it E  R  K  i I IT\ 
.IBRARY 
i   Of 
CALIFORNIA       J 


/      .  . 

L         V ' 


UNDER    PINE    AND    PALM 


UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM 


BY 


FRANCES    L.   MACE 


BOSTON 
TICKNOR    AND    COMPANY 

211  Fremont  Street 
1888 


STAGS 


Copyright,  1887, 
BY  TlCKNOR  AND  COMPANY. 

A II  rights  reserved. 


JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE. 


TO 

JFat&er  anto  mj> 


JX7HEN  first  your  dear  eyes  look  upon  this  page, 
**      Remember  not  that  I  am  far  away,  — 
Bid  all  the  long  years  vanish,  and  look  back 
To  that  white  cottage  where  the  willows  grew 
And  the  pomegranates  ripened  in  the  sun ; 
Where,  just  below  the  broad  piazza,  bloomed 
A  terrace  with  the  tangled  cinnamon  rose. 
Think  of  that  early  home,  and  me,  a  child, 
Calling  your  names  and  running  down  the  stair 
Expectant  of  your  praises,  as  I  read 
My  latest  verse  to  those  who  loved  me  best. 

There  is  no  change ;   with  every  thought  of  you 

Childhood  perpetual  rules  my  inmost  heart. 

Though  now  you  sit  beside  your  evening  hearth 

Hearing  the  winds  lament  of  winter  near, 

And  I,  on  the  Pacific's  summer  shore, 

Write  beneath  spicy  branches  not  akin 

To  trees  my  father  planted,  — yet  to-day, 

As  the  last  page  is  folded,  my  strong  love 

Bears  it  across  the  continent  to  you  ; 

And  at  your  feet  I  sit  and  read  once  more 

My  latest  verse  to  those  who  loved  me  first. 


£-39 


PREFATORY     NOTE. 


THE  Author  acknowledges  the  courtesy  of  Messrs. 
Harper  and  Brothers  in  granting  the  use  of  the  following 
poems  which  originally  appeared  in  Harper's  Magazine: 
"The  Kingdom  of  the  Child,"  "A  New-World  Legend," 
"Midsummer  on  Mt.  Desert,"  "Alcyone,"  "A  Rose  of 
Jericho,"  and  "In  the  Garden." 


CONTENTS. 


tjje 


THE  HEART  OF  KATAHDIN    ...........  15 

A  NEW-  WORLD  LEGEND    ............  40 

How  GLOOSKAP  BROUGHT  THE  SUMMER     ......  45 

MIDSUMMER  ON  MOUNT  DESERT   .........  54 

AT  SILVER  LAKE     ..............  66 

WELCOME  HOME      ..............  68 

THE  HARVEST  OF  LILIES  ............  70 

MOTHERLESS    ................  73 

A  MORNING  SONG    ..............  75 

NOT  OF  THE  WORLD    ...    ..........  77 

THE  MISTAKE  OF  THE  FAIRIES      .........  78 

A  SWEDISH  DRINKING-HORN     ..........  80 

My  INDIAN  SISTER  ..............  83 

BY  THE   PlSCATAQUIS      .............  86 

A  WATER  LILY    .....     ..........  89 

SUMMER'S  PROMISE  ..............  91 

THE  Two  LIGHTS    ..............  92 

THE  FOREST  BROOK     .............  93 


X  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

A  MESSAGE 95 

REST  AND  HEALING 97 

A  DREAM  INTERPRETED 99 

THE  RAINBOW 102 

THE  FRIARS  OF  CASTINE 103 

THE  VIGIL  OF  THE  YEAR 106 

A  SCARLET  LEAF 108 

THE  ANSWER no 

SUMMER'S  SLEEP 1 1 1 

COUNSEL 113 

THE  WOODS  OF  MAINE 114 


tfje 


THE  NEW  ITALY 119 

Los  ANGELES 124 

WINTER  ROSES 134 

MOUNT  HAMILTON 137 

VESPERS  IN  SAN  JUAN 140 

AD  ASTRA 143 

A  ROSE  OF  JERICHO 145 

THE  KINGDOM  OF  THE  CHILD 148 

THE  ANGELUS 153 

THE  PALACE  BUILDER 155 

PERSEPOLIS 161 


CONTENTS.  XI 

PAGE 

OUR  WITNESSES 163 

THE  ORIGIN  OF  BIRDS 166 

THE  PEPPER-TREE 168 

CRADLE-LIFE .  171 

HALCYON  DAYS 172 

MOUNTAIN  FLOWERS 174 

THE  SISTINE  MADONNA 176 

A  BURMESE  PARABLE 180 

BEAUTIFUL  DREAMS 183 

LOST 185 

EVEN-SONG 188 

THE  ROSE  BY  THE  WAYSIDE 190 

VICTORY 192 

''ALL'S  WELL!" 194 

IN  WHAT  SOIL  DOES  COURAGE  GROW  ? 196 

WHY? 198 

TWILIGHT  Music 199 

THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  DAWN 201 

THE  SUCCESSION 202 

THY  SONG 203 

KLINGSOHR 204 

IN  THE  GARDEN 218 

ALCYONE 220 


UNDER   THE   PINE-TREE. 


UNDER   PINE  AND   PALM. 


THE   HEART  OF  KATAHDIN. 

I. 

INALO,  forest-born,  dwelt  where  the  blue  Penobscot 
Gathers  its  mountain  brooks  and  sweeps  by  the 
Moosehead  waters, 

Calling  aloud  to  its  streams  to  hasten  nor  dare  to 
linger, 

Lest  the  enchanting  lake  should  lure  them  to  sleep  by 
her  singing, 

Never  to  waken  more.     For  ages  beyond  remembrance 

This  was  the  grand  domain  of  spirits  of  wave  and  wood 
land. 

Mighty  their  sway  and  strong  the  magic  they  shed 
around  them. 


1 6  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

There  dark   Kineo   sits  on   his  cliff  by  the   soundless 

billow, 
Yonder  the  Squaw  looks  back,  forever  reproachful  and 

gloomy, 
While  guarded  by  leagues  of  forest  from  step  of  human 

intruder, 
Katahdin  keeps  lonely  watch  in  his  stronghold  of  ice 

and  of  granite. 

Youngest  son  of  a  chief  was  Kinalo ;  proud  of  bearing, 

None  so  light  of  foot  in  seeking  the  eagle's  eyrie, 

So  keen  on  the  track  of  the  moose,  so  swift  and  sure 

with  the  arrow; 
And  when  in  his  birch  canoe  he  circled  the  great  lake's 

waters, 
The  racing  waves  laughed   long  to  see  him  bounding 

beyond  them. 
Yet  often,  like  one   spellbound,  he  would   pause  in  a 

breathless  silence, 
Heedless   of  hunter's   call   or   the  taunt   of  his   ruder 

brothers, 

For  then  he  heard  a  voice  call  "Kinalo  !  "  far  above  him, 
Nearer   and  nearer  floating,  a   mellow  and   brook-like 

accent,  — 
Then  with  quick  heart-beats  he  saw  a  face  of  wonderful 

beauty 


THE  HEART  OF  KATAHDIN.  IJ 

Glancing  out  from  a  cloud,  or  over  the  bough  of  a  pine- 
tree; 

Just  for  an  instant  it  shone,  then  vanished  in  quivering 
flashes. 

Only  one  other  knew  this  mystery  which  enthralled 
him, — 

The  dearest  friend  of  his  heart,  his  sweet  child-sister 
Wanona. 

Often  with  her  he  stood,  in  the  shade  of  a  giant  pine- 
tree, 
Watching  the  night  come  down  on  the  mighty  mountain 

Katahdin. 
Together    they    watched    the    shadows,    like    foemen 

stealthy   and   silent, 
Creep   up   the   rugged    slope   and   war   on   the   sunlit 

fortress. 

Soon  was  the  banner  of  sunset  smitten  and  torn  asunder, 
Soon  the  black  tents  of  darkness  covered  the  cliffs  and 

gorges. 
Then  would  Wanona  hasten  her  brother's  steps  to  the 

wigwam, 
Saying,  "  I  fear  thou  wilt  meet  the  beautiful  spirit  who 

loves  thee, 
And  the  kiss  of  a  spirit  is  death ;  so  the  aged  women 

have  told  me." 

a 


1 8  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 


II. 

FAIR  as  a  dream  was  the  morning,  rosy  with  kiss  of  the 

sun-god, 
The  buds  of  April  had  burst  into  bloom  on  the  willow 

and  maple, 
Fresh  with   dew  was  the   sod,  with  dim   blue   violets 

sprinkled, 
When   Kinalo   started   forth   with   bow   and   feathered 

arrows. 

"  Stay  not  long  alone  in  the  forest,"  cried  Wanona, 
"And  go  not  near  the  walls  oi  the  magic  mountain 

Katahdin." 

Scarce  had  he  walked  a  league,  when  the  wildwood  path 

ascending 
Was  covered  here  and  there  with  patches  of  snow,  still 

hidden 
By  the  dense  shade  of  the  trees  from  the  melting  touch 

of  the  sunbeam, 
And  behold!    a  small,  light  track,  like  the  step  of  a 

child,  before  him. 
Startled   at   sight   so   strange,   for   he   left  the   village 

sleeping, 


THE  HEART  OF  KATAHDIN.  19 

And  no  child  could  wander  out  unmissed  in  the  early 
daybreak, 

He  hastened  swiftly  on,  the  hunter's  instinct  awakened. 

Was  it  a  fluttering  robe  which  hid  in  the  clustering 
alders  ? 

He  gained  the  thicket,  and  lo !  a  little  brook  laughed 
and  babbled. 

Now  into  the  open  sunlight  he  came,  but  his  perfect 
vision 

Saw  where  a  foot  had  pressed  the  delicate  moss  and 
crushed  it, 

Saw  too  a  spray  of  Mayflower  broken  and  dropped  by 
the  wayside. 

On,  still  on  he  pressed,  nor  heeded  the  flying  morn 
ing; 

Often  so  keen  the  hunt  that  he  heard  quick  footsteps 
fleeing, 

Now  on  the  crisp  light  snow,  and  now  on  the  springy 
mosses. 

How  he  could  not  tell,  but  the  day  had  flown  un 
heeded, 

Night  was  falling  fast,  and  a  forest  unfamiliar 

Darkly  stood  around,  while  the  mournful  pines  and 
hemlocks 

Shook  their  feathered  heads  in  grave  rebuke  of  his 
presence. 


2O  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

Pausing  and  looking  around  dismayed  at  the  coming 

darkness, 

Dizzy,  as  one  awakened  from  an  overpowering  slumber, 
He  saw  high  above  him  loom  the  dome  of  a   giant 

mountain, 
And  knew,  by  the  awe  in  his  heart,  he  stood  at  the  base 

of  Katahdin. 
"  Father  Katahdin !  "  he  sighed,  "  I  must  sleep  at  thy 

feet."     Uplifting 
His  eyes,  he  saw  the  moon  like  a  bow,  and  one  star, 

like  an  arrow 
Shot  by  some  heavenly  archer,  flaming  just  under  the 

crescent. 
Did  the  keen  rays  pierce  his  eyes  and  open  his  inner 

vision? 
For  suddenly  at   his   side  the   gray  cliff  flashed   and 

parted, 
And  the  face  he  had  seen  in  the  clouds  was  beaming 

and  smiling  upon  him  ! 

Maiden  or  goddess  he  knew  not.     A  being  of  exquisite 

fairness, 
Slender  and  lithe  of  form  and  tremulous  with  quick 

breathing, 
As  if  from  his  long  pursuit  she  had  fled  to  this  friendly 

shelter. 


THE  HEART  OF  KATAHDIN.  21 

Lustrous  her  hair  with  beams,  and  her  robe,  of  a  golden 

texture, 
Shimmered  with  every  pulse-beat  as  if  from  some  inner 

brightness ; 
All  spirit  and  splendor  and  fire,  she  stood  there  and 

smiled  upon  him. 

III. 

WEARY  no  longer  was  Kinalo ;  all  his  boldness  returning, 
He  stepped  through  the  mountain  door,  which  closed 

with  a  clang  behind  him, 

Reverberating  long,  like  distant,  vanishing  thunder. 
In  a  mighty  hall  he  stood :    his  wild,  dark  eyes  swift 

measured 
The  height  of  the  rounded  dome,  with  glittering  crystals 

lighted, 
The  depth  of  the  inner  space,  in  arch  beyond  arch 

extending, 
Till  lost  in  a  cloudy  vista,  where  flashes  of  lightning 

were  playing. 

Far  down  the  hall,  on  a  space  slightly  raised  from  the 

floor  of  the  cavern, 
Sat  an  old  man  fashioning  arrows.     He  was  white  as 

snow,  from  the  feathers 


22  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

Which  crowned  his  hoary  head,  to  his  moccasins  crystal 

beaded. 

Pale  was  his  face,  his  eyes  with  an  icy  lustre  glittered, 
His  robe  was  white  like  mist,  and  he  sat  on  a  snowy 

bearskin, 
While  deftly  and  swiftly  his  colorless  fingers  wrought 

on  the  arrows,  — 
Each  a  long  eagle-feather  with  a  fiery  brilliant  pointed. 

A  moment  the  young  brave  stood  spellbound  by  this 

ancient  spectre, 

Then  on  his  hand  he  felt  a  soft  electric  pressure, 
And  the  maiden   led  him   forward.     "  I  bring  you  a 

guest,  my  father," 
She  said;   and  her  voice  was  clear  and  pleasant  like 

raindrops  falling. 
The  old  man  looked  on  Kinalo,  —  looked  with  a  gaze  so 

piercing 
The  youth  felt  his  heart  beat  loud,  in  a  tumult  of  awe 

and  wonder; 
For   sphered    in   those   faded   eyes   were   centuries   of 

remembrance, 
With  knowledge  of  days  to  come,  and  of  deeds  that 

were  yet  unnumbered. 
"The  mountain  will  give  thee  rest,"  at  last  he  slowly 

uttered ; 


THE  HEART  OF  KATAHDIN.  23 

"  Not  the  brief  midnight  sleep  thou  hast  known  in  the 

lodge  of  thy  father, 
Broken  with  dreams,  but  rest  that  will  strengthen  and 

heal  thy  spirit." 
Then  to  the  Fair  One  turning:    "  Light-of-the-Cloud, 

thy  brothers 
Await    thy   evening    call.      Now   hasten   the   door   to 

open, 
And  send  thy  flame  afar  to  summon  and  light  them 

homeward." 

The  Beautiful  One  obeyed,  but  slowly,  with  lingering 
footsteps. 

Reaching  the  cavern's  front,  still  backward  at  Kinalo 
glancing, 

The  walls  at  her  touch  flew  open ;  a  flash  of  luminous 
splendor 

Played  for  an  instant  around  her.  Thus  often  at  sum 
mer  twilight, 

After  long  hours  of  heat,  the  sky  in  the  west  is 
brightened 

With  quivering  flames  from  the  unseen  fountains  of 
light  overflowing. 


24  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 


IV. 

AT  once,  as  the  flash  disappeared,  came  a  rumble  of 

thunder, 

And  with  it  a  clamor  of  feet  and  a  tumult  of  voices. 
A  cloud  seemed  to  burst  at  the  door,  and  a  throng  of 

young  giants, 

Dark-browed  and  warlike  of  aspect  and  rude  of  de 
meanor, 
Rushed  toward  the  king  of  the  mountain.     But  Kinalo, 

startled, 
Scarce  heeded  them  as  they  passed,  so  strangely  the 

monarch 

Changed  at  the  sight  of  his  sons.     He  rose  up  majestic 
And  towered  in  mysterious  height  till  the  dome  of  the 

mountain 
Circled    his    brow   like    a   crown.      His    cloudy   locks 

fluttered 
Like  snow-wreaths  in  winter  storms,  and  his  garments 

down  falling 
Drift  upon  drift  of  white  seemed  to  rustle  and  waver. 

"What  of  our  warfare?"  he  cried;   and  the  giants  re 
sponded  : 
"  Still  is  Katahdin  the  victor  and  monarch  of  mountains ! 


THE  HEART  OF  KATAHDIN.  2$ 

Armed  with  thy  thunders,  we  met  the  bold  demons  of 

ocean, 
We  warred  on  the  hills  by  the  coast,  and  the  lofty  peaks 

inland 
Trembled  at  sound  of  our  coming.     Look  forth  at  the 

forests 
Riven  with  bolts  from  our  hands.     See  the  rivers  o'er- 

flowing, 
The  rocks  from  the  mountains  let  loose,  and  the  raging 

old  ocean 

Lashing  its  shores  in   despair  that   it  could  not  pur 
sue  us. 
Yet  while  we  warred  on  thy  rivals  our  deeds  were  of 

blessing,  — 
We  wrested  the  fetters  of  ice  from  the  harsh  hand  of 

Winter, 
And  opened  his  prison  doors  wide  for  the  long-hidden 

grasses. 
Though  the  clouds  we  rode  were  heavy  with  floods  and 

darkness, 
The  sunbeams  were  trooping  behind   us,  and  earth  is 

rejoicing." 

"  Bring    forth    the   feast,"    cried   the   king,  —  "strong 

meat  for  my  heroes! 
Feed  and  rest,  my  sons,  and  thou  " —  to  the  stranger — 


26  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

"  Take  thy  place    in  our  midst   and  be  glad   till   the 

morning !  " 
He  sat  on  his  bearskin    again,   and  it  seemed   but  a 

moment, 

So  fast  the  elf-feet  flew  from  an  inner  chamber, 
Ere  a  board  was  spread  and  a  warm  enticing  odor 
Floated  from  smoking  meat  and  from  wild  red  berries. 
At  a  wave  of  the  old  king's  hand  all  were  seated  around 

him; 

But  Light-of-the-Cloud,  at  Kinalo's  shoulder  standing, 
Seemed  with  her  eyes  to  answer  his  inmost  questions. 

Kinalo,  stirred  to  the  soul  with  intense  admiration, 
Scarcely  tasted  the  food,  but  toward  the  Fair  One 
Leaned  as  he  whispered,  "  Speak  to  me,  Beautiful 

Silence ! 
Tell   me  thy  name,    and   the   name   and   race   of  thy 

kindred." 


Over  his  shoulder  she  leaned  as  she  answered  lowly : 
"  Katahdin,  the  mountain  king,  is  my  father ;  the  Thunders 
My  brothers  are,  and  wide  is  their  fame  and  eternal ; 
I,"  —  and  her  eyes  gave  forth  a  glittering  splendor,  — 
"  I  am  the  Lightning ;  I  open  the  door  of  the  mountain, 
The  clouds  bear  me  far  and  wide,  yet  sometimes  I  linger 
Even  at  the  door  of  thy  lodge,  by  the  blue  Penobscot." 


THE  HEART  OF  KATAHDIN.  2^ 

Kinalo,  looking  deep  in  her  eyes,  quick  answered : 
"  Now  do  I  know  what  spell,  what  magic  has  drawn  me 
Ever  with  awe  yet  desire  to  the  kingly  mountain. 
Was  it  thy  hand  that  beckoned  in  evening  shadows  ? 
Was  it  thy  face  whose  smile  made  the  hill-top  rosy? 
Hast  thou  not  called  me  by  name  in  the  glooms  of  the 
forest?" 

She  smiled  but  motioned  to  silence ;  for  now  the  dark 

brothers 

On  Kinalo  turned  their  cloudy  and  wondering  glances. 
"  Who  is  this,"  they  said,  "  who  comes  from  the  world 

of  the  dying?" 

The  hunter  felt  a  chill  at  his  heart,  but  responded 
With  grave  and  fearless  demeanor :  "  Lost  in  the  forest, 
I  called  on  the  name  of  Katahdin,  and  scarce  had  I 

spoken, 
When  the  king  of  mountains  had  sent  this  Fair  One  to 

meet  me. 
But  why  do  you  speak  of  my  home  as  the  world  of  the 

dying?" 


V. 

KATAHDIN,  who  now  with  noiseless  hand  was  shaping 
The  arrows  barbed  with  fire,  reached  forth,  and  touching 


28  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

The  young  man's  eyes,  said  "Look !  "     At  the  touch  of 

magic 

Kinalo's  gaze  pierced  freely  the  walls  of  the  mountain, 
And  the  wide  world  lay  unveiled.     Lo !   the  sky  was 

darkened 
With  flocks  of  birds.     Their  wings  like  waves  in  the 

sunlight 

Fluttered  and  floated  aloft ;  but  an  unseen  arrow 
Swift  and  merciless  smote  each  jubilant  singer. 
One  by  one  they  fell ;  as  the  last  sank  downward, 
Others  came  in  a  cloud,  and  these  soared  and  carolled, 
And  perished  in  all  their  joy.     With  stifled  shudder 
He  turned  his  face.     And  now  in  a  boundless  forest 
Vast  herds  of  beasts  were  seen.    Some  roamed  majestic, 
While  others  stole  through  the  thicket  or  hid  in  the 

jungle; 

And  as  they  trampled  the  sweet  luxuriant  verdure 
He  seemed  to  feel  the  throb  of  their  savage  heart- beats. 
But  some  by  the  wayside  fell  and  silent  perished, 
Some  slew  the  weaker,  and  others  struggled  fiercely 
And   fought  till  each  rolled    in  death  on  the  bloody 

greensward. 

He  looked  again,  and  behold  !  a  vast  procession 
On  a  boundless  plain  was  steadily  onward  moving ; 
Little  children  snatching  at  wayside  blossoms, 


THE  HEART  OF  KATAHDIN.  29 

Mothers,  and  strong  young  men  with  faces  of  gladness, 
And  aged  ones  who  tottering  clung  to  their  kindred. 
On  they  went,  speaking  hopefully  to  each  other ; 
But  in  their  midst  there  walked  a  shadowy  being,  — 
On  one  by  one  fell  his  glance  of  terrible  meaning, 
His  arrow  sped,  and  low  in  the  dust  lay  the  victim. 

Kinalo  covered  his  face.     The  hand  on  his  forehead 
Was  softly  pressed,  and  again  the  walls  shut  round  him. 
"  I  know,  O  King !  there  lies  the  world  of  the  dying ; 
But  tell  me,  has  death  no  power  in  this  rocky  fastness? 
Does  he  never  enter  here?"     The  white  king  answered : 
"  How  old  is  this  granite  wall?     So  old  is  its  monarch. 
How  long  shall  this  mountain  stand  ?     So  long  shall  my 

children 

Rule  over  storm  and  cloud  in  a  youth  never  fading. 
Son  of  a  dying  race,  thou  dost  tremble  and  shudder 
When  thou  hast  seen  but  death's  shadow ;  yet  I  dis 
cover, 

With  stronger  vision,  long  lines  of  unborn  nations 
Crowding    the   earth   as    the   birds    that   clouded    the 

heavens. 

One  by  one  they  rise,  grow  mighty  and  daring, 
Then  die  that  another  may  live.     On  the  tree  of  ages 
Is  a  blossom  many-colored,  many-petalled, 
And  the  Redman's  leaf  is  the  first  to  fall  and  wither." 


3O  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 


VI. 

"  LlGHT-OF-THE-CLOUD,"  now  shouted  the  loud-voiced 

brothers, 

"  Summon  thy  dancing  elves  and  sing  us  to  slumber. 
Thou  and  our  father  may  tell  the  tales  of  the  ages, 
But  we  will  sleep  and  rest  from  our  long  day's  labor." 
Then  the  Bright-haired  One  looked  earnestly  down  the 

cavern ; 

Though  she  spoke  no  word  it  opened,  and  airy  beings 
Gathered   around   their   queen.     Their   garments  were 

tinted 
With   colors   of  sunset.      Like   beautiful   clouds   they 

hovered 

Around  her,  reflecting  the  light  of  her  radiant  presence, 
Then  glided,  like  rainbows  embodied,  a  visible  splendor 
Of  light  and  of  motion,  their  steps  keeping  time  to  her 

singing. 

And   oh,   the  song   that   she  sung,  the  song  of  the 

Home-land,  — 

So  sweet,  so  wild,  awaking  the  soul's  remembrance 
Of  life   and   joy  ere  its    birth    in   the  world   of  the 

dying ! 


THE  HEART  OF  KATAHDIN.  31 

The  land  of  dim,  soft  lights  and  musical  voices, 

Of  hills   whose   glimmering    slopes   reached   into   the 

heavens, 

Of  valleys  white  with  stainless,  shadowless  blossoms. 
Oh,  there,  when  death  was  yet  but  a  word  unspoken, 
And  love  alone  was  mighty,  were  spirits  mated, 
Far,  far  in  the  past,  in  the  morning  hours  of  existence. 

As  she  sang,  the  strong  heart  of  Kinalo  surged  with 

emotion, 
And  scarce  could  he  wait  till  the  last  sweet  cadence  was 

ended. 
Then  cried  he :  "  O  maiden !  I  too  know  the  song  of  the 

Home-land ; 
T  is  deep  in  my  heart.     My  people  have  known  it  and 

loved  it, 
But  lost  it  forever;    the  words  were   too   sacred   for 

mortals. 
When  yet  was  no  sun  and  no  moon  in  the  high  arch  of 

heaven, 
When  the  stars  were  our  playmates,  and  taught  us  their 

musical  language, 

In  a  twilight  divine,  oh,  there  in  the  mystical  Home 
land, 
Ere  the  earth-life  was  dreamed,  my  beautiful  spirit,  I 

loved  thee !  " 


32  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

Still    was    the    cavern,  —  the    storm-brothers    heavily 

sleeping, 
Stretched   on  the   bearskins   that  covered   the    darker 

recesses. 

Only  the  old  man  bent  over  the  fire-tipped  arrows, 
Only  the  Fair  One  watched  softly  the  young  hunter's 

visage. 

Suddenly,  lifting  his  head,  said  Kinalo  boldly : 
"  Would  death  forget  me  too  if  I  tarried  with  you  ? 
Could  I  share  in  the  mountain's  warfare,  the  mountain's 

glory? 

And  thou,  most  beautiful  one,  the  Heart  of  Katahdin, 
Wouldst  thou  love  me  in  years  to  come  as  in  years 

forgotten?" 

Down  at  the  old  man's  side  fell  the  half-wrought  arrow, 

And  a  smile,  like  sunshine  in  winter,  lighted  his  features. 

He  looked  at  Light-of-the-Cloud.  "  Shall  he  stay?  "  he 
questioned. 

"  He  knows  the  song  of  our  race.     His  spirit  remembers. 

Shall  I  give  him  to  drink  of  the  cup  of  our  youth  ever 
lasting?" 

"  Ah !    give  me  your  draught  of  fire !  "   cried  Kinalo, 

glowing 
With  new-born  passion,  and  rose  up  with  hasty  ardor. 


THE  HEART  OF  KATAHDIN.  33 

"  It  is  for  thy  sake,  O  dear  and  wonderful  maiden ! 

I  will  see  no  more  my  lodge  by  the  cool  Penobscot. 

I  know  thee  at  last,  my  own  from  the  dawn  of  creation  !  " 

With  step  as  light  as  a  rose- leafs  fall  she  vanished 
To  the  inner  cave,  but  swiftly  thence  returning, 
She  bore  in  her  hand  a  shell.     In  its  rosy  chalice 
Was  a  liquid  red  like  blood.     To  his  lips  she  held  it, 
And  murmured  lowly:   "Drink  this  and  forget  forever 
The  years  of  thy  human  life.     Of  the  strength  of  the 

mountain, 

Its  joy,  its  strife,  its  victory,  take  thy  portion, 
And  love  me,  as  I  will  love  thee,  my  dark-eyed  hunter !  " 

He  seized  the  shell  and  quaffed  in  a  passionate  frenzy. 
Red  were  the  drops  and  like  an  electric  current 
Quivered  through  all  his  frame.    Still  shining  beside  him 
He  saw  the  beautiful  eyes,  and  again  he  lifted 
The  burning  liquid.     But  ah  !  he  pauses,  he  listens  ! 
What  music,  tender  and  sweet,  borne  far  through  the 

forest, 
Has  pierced  to  this  mountain  hall?     The  lapping  of 

waters 

He  hears,  the  waves  of  the  strong  and  beautiful  river, 
The  rustle  of  growing  leaves,  the  whir  of  the  swallow, 
The  song  and  the  sigh  of  life.  Now  fainter,  farther, 

3 


34  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

A  voice  that  is  calling  to  him :  "  O  Kinalo  !  brother ! 
Come  to  thy  home  once  more !     Come  to  Wanona !  " 

Nature  had  called  to  him,  pleading  and  pitiful  Nature, 
Yearning  to  win  him  back  from  the  realm  of  enchant 
ment. 
Down  from  his  hand  fell  the  cup.     "  O  maiden !  "  he 

murmured, 
"  My  heart  and  my  life  are  thine,  but  once  I  must  leave 

thee; 

Must  bid  farewell  to  my  father  beside  the  blue  river, 
And  soothe  the  long  grief  of  my  sister,  the  flower-eyed 
Wanona." 

Stern  grew  the  face  of  the  king,  and  the  eyes  of  the 

maiden 

Flashed  with  intenser  rays.     Deep  muttered  Katahdin : 
11  Go,  if  thou  wilt,  but  brief  in  the  world  of  the  dying 
Are   the   hours  of  him  who   has   tasted   the   wine   of 

Katahdin." 
"  Go  !  "  said  the  Fair  One,  and  waved  to  the  wide-open 

doorway,  — 

"  To-morrow  at  sunset  I  come,  and  thou  wilt  not  for 
sake  me." 


THE  HEART  OF  KATAHDIN.  35 


VII. 

HE  stood  in  the  forest,  the  gray  mountain  silent  behind 

him, — 
Stood   like  one   waking   from   feverish,   dream-broken 

slumber. 
But  oh !  the  cool  breath  of  the  welcoming  air  of  the 

morning, 
The  whisper  and   rustle  of  bird-haunted   fir-tree   and 

maple ! 
Soon  he  sprang  forward,  and  strong  grew  his  tremulous 

footsteps 
As  homeward  he  hastened  through  paths  that  were  dear 

and  familiar. 
Could  this  be  the  world  of  the  dying,  —  this  beautiful 

sunlight, 
This   musical   swell  of   the    songs    and    responses    of 

Nature? 

Up  there,  in  the  shadowless  blue,  must  be  life  ever- 
flowing, 
And   who   that  had    shared   to   the   full   this   glowing 

existence, 
Need  fear  to  die  when  the  Unseen  Father  should  call 

him? 


36  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

There  flowed  the  river  at  last,  and  the  noonday  splendor 
Showed,  by  its  tranquil  border,  the  nestling  village. 
Weary  and  faint  with  fast,  he  saw  before  him 
The  broad-boughed  pine  and  the  door  of  his  father's 

dwelling. 

But  who  is  this  that  steps  from  the  open  doorway, 
Looks  on  him,  gazes,  trembles  ?    The  eyes  are  Wanona's, 
But  the  form  is  a  woman's  form,  and  a  young  child 

follows, 

Clinging  with  sunburnt  hands  to  her  garment's  border. 
It  is  she !     No  face  in  the  world  could  look  upon  him 
With  such  a  depth  of  longing  and  love  and  anguish. 
"  Speak  to  me,  O  Wanona !  "  the  wanderer  faltered. 
"Why  dost  thou  look  with  the  face  of  a  stranger  upon 

me? 
Where  is  my  father,  whom  yesterday  I  left  sleeping?  " 

"  Yesterday ! "    Stern  and  dark  grew  the  face  of  Wanona 
As  nearer  she  drew,  the  frightened  child  uplifting. 
"  Speak  not  our  father's  name  !  "  she  uttered  sadly. 
"  Seven  long  years  he  has  slept  in  the  forest  shadow. 
Long  did  we  watch  and  mourn,  but  at  last  he  slumbered, 
And  Gray-Eagle-Feather,  thy  friend  of  old,  is  my  husband. 
Where  hast  thou  stayed?     In  what  stranger  tribe,  for 
getting 
Thy  father's  age,  and  the  grieving  heart  of  Wanona?" 


THE  HEART  OF  KATAHDIN.  37 

Seven  long  years  !     Oh  the  might  of  Katahdin's  magic ! 

Slowly  he  sank  down  under  the  ancient  pine-tree, 

Sadly  he  scanned  the  faces  that  bent  above  him,  — 

All  were  changed,  and  the  years  were  written  upon 
them. 

When  he  had  taken  food  from  the  hand  of  Wanona 

He  told  them  his  story.  Then,  though  they  vied  in 
kindness, 

And  strove  to  win  him  to  enter  the  lodge  of  his  child 
hood, 

He  sadly  refused.  "  I  have  done  with  earth,"  he 
answered ; 

"  I  have  sat  in  the  halls  and  drank  of  the  cup  of  magic. 

My  world  henceforth  must  be  in  the  heart  of  Katahdin." 

So  afternoon  burned  slowly  away  in  lurid 
And  brazen  splendor.     Upon  the  distant  mountain 
He  gazed  with  the  look  Wanona  well  remembered,  — 
The  look  he  had  worn  when  the  spirit  voice  first  called 

him. 

And  now  a  cloud  grown  suddenly  dark  was  surging 
Out  of  the  west.     The  great  pine  branches  trembled 
With  conscious  terror.     At  roll  of  the  coming  tempest 
He  waved  his  hand  and  smiled  on  his  weeping  sister 
As  one  who  will  smile  no  more.     A  blaze  of  lightning 
Dazzled  the  quivering  sky.    Through  her  tears  Wanona 


38  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

Saw  the  old  pine  shudder  and  fall,  —  saw  white  arms, 

gleaming, 

Seize  upon  Kinalo.     Darkness  and  heavy  rainfall 
Hid  him  then  from  her  sight.     The  speedy  tempest 
Fled  as  it  came,  and  Kinalo's  friends,  approaching, 
Found  him  lying  unscarred  by  the  lightning's  kisses 
In  death's  cold  sleep.     The  flying  clouds  retreating 
Made  bare  the  mountain's  brow.    There,  rosy  and  golden, 
As  if  a  banner  of  triumph  were  flung  from  the  summit, 
Glittered  the  sun's  last  ray,  —  a  farewell  signal. 


Frown  from  thy  stronghold,  gloomy  and  proud  Katahdin ! 
Wrap  thyself  close  with  unapproachable  forests, 
And  dream  of  the  redman's  ancient  forgotten  worship. 
Unchanged  thou  hast  watched  their  leaf  grow  sere  and 

wither 

From  the  tree  of  life.     A  race  who  fears  not  thy  magic 
Treads  the  wild  paths  of  the  woods,  and  on  the  blue 

water 

Boldly  sails,  unconscious  of  olden  enchantment. 
Yet  thou  art  mighty  as  silent,  and  often  in  summers 
Hereafter  to  blossom,  shall  strangers  gazing  upon  thee 
Feel  the  spell  of  thy  presence.    Then  will  they  remember 
The  white  old  king  forever  fashioning  arrows, 


THE  HEART  OF  KATAHDIN. 


39 


The  stormy  brothers,  the  haunting  song  of  the  Home 
land, 

And  the  maid  who  summoned,  with  kiss  of  death,  a 
mortal 

To  share  the  love  hidden  deep  in  the  heart  of  Katahdin. 


A  NEW-WORLD   LEGEND. 

OF  the  many  beautiful  fancies 
With  Indian  legend  wrought, 
The  bridal  of  winds  and  waters 

Enfolds  the  happiest  thought. 
It  grew  as  the  forest  blossoms, 

Without  touch  or  tint  of  art,  — 
A  greenwood  spray  of  living  truth 
Fresh  out  of  Nature's  heart. 

In  the  East,  that  realm  of  story 

Where  even  the  gods  were  born, 
Was  the  fairest  of  all  the  wigwams, — 

The  Lodgings  of  the  Morn ; 
Behind  its  rose-red  curtains, 

In  his  lonely  majesty, 
Dwelt  the  viewless  one,  the  Heart  of  Heaven, 

Soul  of  the  azure  sky. 


A  NEW-WORLD  LEGEND.  4 

He  saw  the  New  World  lying 

Barren  and  drear  and  cold, 
Nor  voice  nor  prayer  uplifted 

To  the  morning's  gate  of  gold. 
He  spoke,  and  four  strong  Brothers 

From  his  breath  had  instant  birth, 
Who  came  as  gods  with  rushing  wings 

To  each  corner  of  the  earth. 

Of  keen  and  boundless  vision, 

And  swifter  than  eagles  are, 
One  made  his  lodge  with  the  daybreak, 

Just  under  the  morning  star. 
Jewels  of  glistening  amber 

Fastened  his  garment's  fold, 
And  his  head  was  crowned  with  tossing  plumes 

Yellow  as  burnished  gold. 

One  flew  to  the  glowing  South-land, 

His  garments  all  of  red, 
And  feathers  of  lurid  crimson 

Drooped  darkly  on  his  head. 
The  third  to  the  shore  of  sunset 

Sped  with  the  dying  light, 
And  his  lodge  was  curtained  with  ebon  shades, 

For  the  slumber-couch  of  Night. 


42  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

The  last  to  the  Ice-world  hastened, 

The  realm  of  the  lord  of  death ; 
Snow-white  were  his  strong,  keen  pinions, 

And  pitiless  cold  his  breath. 
Then  to  and  fro  unceasing, 

Wilder  and  fiercer  still, 
Roamed  over  the  earth  the  four  great  Winds, 

Each  seeking  his  own  rude  will. 

Then  murmured  the  Heart  of  Heaven : 

"  Though  strong  these  Brothers  be, 
They  cannot  ripen  the  springtime, 

Blossom  nor  fruit  nor  tree. 
I  must  give  them  loving  helpers, 

Who  with  wiser,  gentler  hand 
Shall  guide  their  aimless  strength  to  bring 

New  life  to  the  waiting  land. 


"  Come  forth,  O  Falling  Water !  " 

Then  a  shining  one  had  birth, 
And  in  bright  cascade  swift  springing 

She  took  her  place  on  earth. 
".Come  forth,  O  Beautiful  Water !  " 
And  the  great  blue  lake  was  seen, 
With  dripping  lilies  lifted  up 
On  her  breast  of  azure  sheen. 


A  NEW- WORLD  LEGEND.  43 

"  And  thou,  O  Water  of  Serpents  !  " 

In  sinuous,  gliding  grace 
Went  forth  the  queenly  River 

Unto  her  chosen  place. 
Then  called  he  the  youngest,  the  fairest, 

"  Step  softly,  Water  of  Birds  !  " 
And  the  silver-footed  Brook  stole  out 

Singing  songs  that  had  no  words. 

Ah !  wondering,  rejoicing 

Were  the  fierce  Brothers  four. 
The  North-wind  sung  his  greeting 

Close  to  the  blue  lake's  shore ; 
The  East-wind's  trumpet  music 

With  the  Cataract's  voice  was  blent, 
And  the  West-wind  down  the  river's  tide 

His  passionate  sighing  sent. 

Long  under  the  forest  branches, 

Swift-footed,  playful,  shy, 
Fair  Water  of  Birds  evaded 

The  South-wind's  ardent  sigh ; 
But  he  gave  her  the  wildwood  roses 

And  violets  for  her  wreath, 
And  a  whisper  at  last  of  sweet  response 

Stole  on  her  perfumed  breath. 


44  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

Glad  was  the  watching  Father, 

The  Soul  of  the  bending  sky, 
When  he  saw  this  happy  wooing 

From  his  hidden  lodge  on  high. 
The  cloud-birds  clapped  their  pinions 

Loud  over  crag  and  plain, 
And  the  bright  wine  poured  for  the  bridal  cheer 

Was  the  bounteous,  sparkling  rain. 

Now  ever  in  happy  union 

The  Winds  and  the  Waters  live ; 
Blossom  and  fruit  and  harvest 

And  the  wealth  of  the  maize  they  give ; 
And  when  from  invisible  beakers 

Dashes  the  midsummer  rain, 
They  are  keeping  the  feast  of  their  bridal  day 

With  the  wine  of  Heaven  again. 


HOW  GLOOSKAP  BROUGHT  THE  SUMMER. 

I. 

OF  the  old  days,  of  the  dawn-days, 
Still  the  wonder-tale  is  told 
In  the  shadow  of  Katahdin, 

Where  the  master  dwelt  of  old,  — 
The  great  Glooskap,  the  Algonquin, 
Chief  of  warriors  true  and  bold. 

Long  had  Winter,  strong  magician, 

Bound  in  icy  chains  the  land ; 
Though  the  wise  men  prayed  and  fasted, 

Yet  he  lifted  not  his  hand. 
But  he  said,  "  Lead  forth  a  warrior 

Who  my  magic  can  withstand  ! 


46  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

"  Let  him  find  my  secret  wigwam, 
Face  to  face  and  without  fear 

Feel  the  power  of  my  enchantment ; 
If  he  bear  the  burden  drear, 

I  am  vanquished,  and  another 
Shall  be  found  to  rule  the  year." 

Dire  the  trouble  of  the  chieftains ; 

Who  that  midnight  path  could  trace? 
Then  spake  Glooskap :   "  Thrice  at  daybreak 

In  my  dreams  a  shining  face 
Smiled  and  called  me.     I  will  follow, 

Even  to  Winter's  hiding-place." 

In  his  frozen  lodge  sat  Winter, 
Fierce  and  famine-eyed  and  old, 

Giant  of  forgotten  ages, 

Scarred  with  battles  manifold ; 

On  his  cruel  deeds  he  pondered 
In  the  darkness  and  the  cold. 

Suddenly  the  great  white  bearskin 

Was  uplifted  from  his  door, 
And  one  entered,  —  rushing  by  him 

Entered  too  the  storm's  wild  roar,  — 
And  the  heart  of  Winter  trembled 

With  a  dread  unknown  before. 


HOW  GLOOSKAP  BROUGHT  THE  SUMMER.         47 

Strong  and  beautiful  the  stranger 

Stood  within  the  darkened  tent; 
The  faint  firelight  to  his  figure 

Shadowy  grace  and  stature  lent, 
And  his  glances  free  and  fearless 

On  the  giant's  face  were  bent. 

Strangely  stirred  the  heart  of  Winter, 

Heart  of  ice  within  his  breast ; 
But  he  murmured,  guileful  ever, 

"  Sit  within  the  lodge  and  rest. 
Long  thy  journey ;  in  the  morning 

Shall  thy  purpose  be  confessed." 

Then  the  terrible  frost-spirits, 

Hastening  to  their  monarch's  aid, 

Of  the  gleaming,  white  aurora 
Phantom  fire  of  welcome  made, 

And  the  pipe  of  cloud  and  ashes 
In  the  stranger's  hand  was  laid. 

And  his  heavy  eyes  were  lifted 

With  a  fixed,  unconscious  gaze, 
While  the  white  lips  of  old  Winter 

Muttered  of  the  ancient  days,  — 
With  wind-voices  and  storm-voices 

Chanted  wild  and  awful  lays. 


48  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

Listening,  dreaming,  with  the  magic 
Of  the  place  around  him  cast, 

Soon  in  chains  of  icy  numbness 
All  his  senses  were  made  fast, 

And  the  hope  of  the  Algonquins 
Bound  and  helpless  lay  at  last. 

Days  and  months  he  slept,  yet  often 
In  his  slumber  stirred  with  pain; 

Lo  !  the  shining  face  still  gleaming 
Far  o'er  midnight's  frozen  plain  ! 

Then  with  fierce  and  breathless  struggle 
Burst  he  from  the  demon  chain. 

Up  he  rose  to  height  majestic, 
Taller,  fairer  than  before ; 

As  he  rent,  in  sudden  fury, 

The  white  bearskin  from  the  door, 

A  long  shaft  of  yellow  sunshine 
Flashed  upon  the  icy  floor ! 

"  I  have  tried  thy  power,  O  giant, 
To  thy  dark  words  listened  well ; 

Now  the  vision  of  the  daybreak 
Calls  me  with  a  mightier  spell. 

Soon  it  will  be  thine  to  listen, 
Mine  the  wizard  tale  to  tell." 


HOW  GLOOSKAP  BROUGHT  THE  SUMMER.         49 


II. 

OH  fast  and  far  sped  Glooskap, 
With  shoes  of  magic  shod ! 

Past  icy  crag  and  mountain 
By  wonder-paths  he  trod, 

Until  his  feet  sank  lightly 
Upon  a  violet  sod, 

And  fairyland  before  him 
Its  gates  wide  open  threw, 

While  myriad  silver  bugles 
From  waving  tree-tops  blew, 

For  all  the  elfin  singers 
At  once  the  master  knew; 

And  in  their  midst  a  being 
All  beauty,  smiles,  and  light, 

The  fair  dream-face  that  led  him 
Along  the  waste  of  night. 

Like  morning  robed  in  roses 
She  beamed  upon  his  sight. 
4 


UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

But  for  no  soft  entreaty 

The  eager  master  stayed, 
"  The  dark  world  waits  thy  coming !  " 

He  uttered.     "  Radiant  maid, 
Take  now  thy  earthly  kingdom ; 

Too  long  thou  hast  delayed." 

He  caught  her  to  his  bosom, 

And  fast  again  he  sped, 
But  craftily  behind  him 

He  tossed  a  magic  thread, 
And  all  the  fairy  kingdom 

In  captive  train  was  led. 

The  birds  flew  close  above  them, 
And  filled  the  air  with  song; 

The  golden-armored  sunbeams, 
Their  escort,  marched  along, 

And  leaf  and  bud  and  blossom 
And  rivulet  swelled  the  throng. 

Upon  a  cliff  gigantic, 

By  ocean's  stormy  shore, 
High  perched  the  great  wind-eagle 

And  urged  the  tempests'  roar. 
His  wings  drooped  as  they  passed  him, 

And  ocean  raged  no  more. 


HOW  GLOOSKAP  BROUGHT  THE  SUMMER.          51 

And  over  old  Katahdin, 

Where  thunders  have  their  home, 

One  footprint  of  sweet  summer 
Let  loose  the  spirits  dumb. 

The  lightnings  gleamed,  the  thunders 
Spake  deep,  "  The  hour  is  come  !  " 

Into  the  frozen  wigwam 

There  fell  a  flood  of  light ; 
In  stepped  the  great  Algonquin, 

With  visage  bold  and  bright, 
And  with  him  royal  Summer 

Resplendent  to  the  sight. 

Then,  smiling,  the  enchantress,    / 

With  singing  low  and  sweet, 
Let  fall  the  pearly  mayflower 

Before  the  giant's  feet. 
Alas  !  in  that  one  moment 

His  conquest  was  complete. 

With  eyes  that  swam  and  melted, 

With  heart  that  throbbed  and  burned, 

A  gaze  of  hopeless  worship 
Upon  her  face  he  turned. 

Though  slain  by  those  soft  glances, 
For  every  look  he  yearned. 


52  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

The  wigwam  sank  about  him, 
The  blue  sky  blazed  and  shone ; 

The  weeping  frost-elves,  fleeing, 
Stayed  not  to  hear  his  moan : 

"  I  die  for  thee,  O  Summer ! 
The  world  is  thine  alone." 

Oh,  in  her  hour  of  triumph 
Had  Summer  been  less  sweet, 

Nor  viewed  with  sudden  pity 
The  tyrant  at  her  feet, 

Her  reign  had  been  eternal, 
Our  joy  had  been  complete ! 

But  on  the  humbled  monarch 

Dear  Summer  looked  and  sighed ; 

Some  tears  let  fall,  —  the  dewdrops 
Were  sprinkled  far  and  wide. 

She  smiled  again,  —  a  rainbow 
The  hill-tops  glorified. 

"  Farewell !  "  cried  laughing  Glooskap, 
"  My  warriors  call  for  me  ! 

Dream  deep,  O  fallen  giant, 
Till  love  shall  set  thee  free. 

Thy  fairy  bride  forever 

Will  share  the  throne  with  thee !  " 


MIDSUMMER   ON   MOUNT  DESERT. 

I.     FLYING   MOUNTAIN. 

HPHE  craggy  height  is  won  !     O  smiling  sea, 
-*•     How  tranquilly  upon  thy  lulling  breast 
The  islands  dream !     We  too  with  Memory 
Will  muse  awhile  and  rest. 

St.  Savior's  Valley,  bright  with  morning  dew, 

Low  at  our  feet  in  waking  beauty  glows, 
Its  borders  tinted  with  the  sea-shell  hue 
Of  the  wild  wayside  rose. 

The  tide  flows  inland ;  not  a  sound  is  heard ; 
No  whirl  of  worldly  tumult  here  is  known; 
Hither  across  the  wave  the  ocean  bird 
Flies  homeward  and  alone. 


54  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

Twice  has  the  century-plant  its  ripened  flower 

Opened  and  scattered  on  this  breezy  crag, 
And  full  again  its  blossom,  since  the  hour 
When  France  her  lily  flag 


Flung  o'er  these  unknown  waters.     Wild  with  glee 
The  sailors  moored,  and  vowed  to  roam  no  more  ; 
But  three,  in  priestly  vestments,  reverently 
Knelt  as  they  touched  the  shore. 

To  them  the  grandeur  of  the  mountain  isle 

Had  but  one  meaning,  woke  but  one  desire,  — 
To  speed  the  hour  when  all  these  heights  should  smile 
Upon  their  altar  fire. 

A  cross  of  rude  device  was  planted  here, 

The  first  uplifted  on  New  England's  shore, 
And  "  Gloria  in  excelsis  "  floated  clear 
The  wondering  woodlands  o'er. 

Brief  was  the  sojourn  of  these  pilgrims  brave, 

Patient  in  toil,  content  to  pray  and  wait ; 
For  riding  fast  upon  the  troubled  wave 
Came  Argall's  ship  of  fate  ! 


MIDSUMMER  ON  MOUNT  DESERT.  55 

A  sudden  rain  of  fire,  the  swift  advance 

Of  gleaming  arms  upon  a  helpless  band, 
And  cross  of  Rome  and  flowery  flag  of  France 
Fell  'neath  the  Briton's  hand. 


No  sign  remains.     The  dew-bespangled  moss 

Safe  in  its  breast  the  burial  secret  keeps ; 

But  on  this  plain,  beneath  his  shattered  cross, 

Du  Thet,  the  gallant,  sleeps. 

Soldier  and  priest !     From  Flying  Mountain's  height 

We  render  homage  to  a  sacred  spot : 
Thine  the  first  grave  in  all  this  valley  bright, 
The  last  to  be  forgot. 

Fall  softly,  blossoms  of  the  century-tree ! 

Long  would  we  keep  our  isle's  historic  fame ; 
Teach  thy  blue  waves  to  whisper,  faithful  sea, 
St.  Savior's  ancient  name. 


56  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 


II.    THE   SEA-WALL. 

NOT  always  Summer  rules  the  isle, 

Though  here  her  chosen  kingdom  be ; 
Against  this  surf-beat  wall  has  warred 
A  wild  and  angry  sea. 

For  when,  in  days  of  old,  arose 

Fresh  from  the  deep  this  wave-washed  pile, 
Down  from  his  throne  of  mountains  looked 
The  Genius  of  the  Isle, 

And  bade  his  Titans,  ocean  born, 

These  strong  abutments  bring  from  far, 
Against  the  demons  of  the  storm 
To  build  a  mighty  bar. 

Then  wrathfully  the  ocean  rose ; 

His  gathered  waves  with  sullen  roar 
Unbroken  over  leagues  of  space 

Came  thundering  to  the  shore. 


MIDSUMMER  ON  MOUNT  DESERT.  57 

Again,  again,  with  clouds  of  foam, 

White  flying  banners  in  his  wake, 
He  smote  upon  the  grand  sea-wall ; 

He  stormed,  but  could  not  break. 

And  still  the  fisher  furls  his  sail, 

And  hides  from  breaker  and  from  rock, 
When  in  his  hours  of  wrath  the  sea 
Renews  the  ancient  shock. 


For  wrecks  are  scattered  in  his  path 
Like  leaves  in  the  autumnal  gale, 
And  pallid  faces  drift  to  shore 

Whose  dumb  lips  tell  no  tale. 

But  while  the  tide  shall  come  and  go, 

While  tempests  rage  and  sunbeams  smile, 
Safe  guarded  by  its  giant  wall 

Shall  bloom  the  Mountain  Isle. 


58  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 


III.     MERMAID'S  CAVE. 

O  RUSHING  wave, 
Flow  past  the  seaward  cliff,  the  broken  shore, 

And  in  the  deep  recesses  of  the  cave 
Call  the  sea-nymphs  once  more ! 

Is  it  so  long 
Since  here  they  sat,  with  pearl  and  amber  wreathed, 

And  to  the  sea,  that  loved  them  well,  a  song 
Of  kindred  rapture  breathed? 

A  thousand  years ! 
But  what  is  that  to  ocean's  memory? 

Still  from  the  cliff  drop  slow  the  misty  tears 
Of  the  unchanging  sea. 

Still  ebb  and  flow, 
Seeking  and  calling  with  perpetual  moan, 

Though  only  sea-flowers  in  the  twilight  glow, 
And  give  no  answering  tone  ! 


MIDSUMMER   ON  MOUNT  DESERT.  59 

With  every  breeze 
Send  forth  a  message,  southward,  westward  blown ; 

Tell  them  pink-petalled,  bright  anemones 
Have  in  their  footprints  grown. 

And  some  soft  day 
Of  rich  midsummer  may  the  wanderers  bring, 

In  this  dim  grotto  evermore  to  stay, 
Beloved  of  Ocean's  King. 


IV.     BAR   HARBOR. 

THE  island  city  glitters  on  the  bay, 

Pride  of  the  summer  sea, 
And  sky  and  wave  exultant  homage  pay 

Her  blooming  royalty. 

The  harbor  gleams  with  myriad  snowy  sail 

That  wait  her  queenly  will ; 
She  wraps  the  mist  about  her  like  a  veil, 

And  every  oar  is  still. 


60  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

But  as  the  sun  outpours  his  ardent  ray, 

Afar  her  beauties  show ; 
Bright  awnings,  snowy  tents,  pavilions  gay, 

With  life  and  lustre  glow. 

No  hiding-place  is  this  for  mournful  fate, 

No  sorrow  here  is  guest ; 
These  summer  palaces  are  dedicate 

To  pleasure  and  to  rest. 

Here  Fashion  plumes  her  brilliant,  airy  wing, 
And  brightens  sea  and  shore,  — 

A  rainbow-colored,  transitory  thing, 
Now  here,  now  seen  no  more. 

Pleased  with  the  brief,  exotic  revelry 

Of  this  ephemeral  train, 
In  proud  delight  the  city  of  the  sea 

Assumes  imperial  reign ; 

While  in  his  solitude,  serene  and  high, 

The  Island  Genius  sits, 
Unconscious  of  the  rose-winged  butterfly 

Which  o'er  his  footstool  flits. 


MIDSUMMER  ON  MOUNT  DESERT.  6 1 


V.    EAGLE  LAKE.     /- 

FAR  up  the  slope,  by  mountain  breezes  fanned, 

This  shining  silver  cup, 
As  if  to  some  great  spirit's  beckoning  hand, 

The  hills  have  lifted  up. 

Down  the  bright  wave  the  shadows  come  and  go, 

The  answering  ripples  stir ; 
Drifting  we  watch,  in  gorge  and  glen  below, 

Dark  woods  of  pine  and  fir; 

We  lift  our  eyes,  and  high  above  us  tower 

Turrets  of  barren  rock,  — 
Gray,  massive  heights  where  foliage  and  flower 

Shrink  from  the  tempest's  shock. 

How  long  this  fair  expanse,  so  beauteous  still, 

Only  the  eagle  knew, 
When  to  his  eyrie  on  yon  frowning  hill 

With  eager  cry  he  flew ! 


62  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

How  long  the  Indian's  stealthy  pathway  led 

Up  from  the  island  shore, 
And  though  the  wild-eyed  deer  before  him  fled, 

He  paused  to  gaze  once  more ! 

Yet  as  to-day  we  dip  the  gleaming  oar, 

And  gayly  float  along, 
While  happy  voices  from  the  farther  shore 

Hail  us  with  shout  and  song, 

As  fresh,  as  full  with  dew  of  forest  rills 

This  silver  mountain  cup, 
As  when  to  some  great  spirit  of  the  hills 

It  first  was  lifted  up. 


VI.    SUNRISE   ON   GREEN   MOUNTAIN. 

A  PALE  gray  light,  a  single  line  of  rose, 
Reveals  where  Night  and  Dawn 

Are  scattering  blossoms  at  the  orient  shrine 
Of  the  approaching  morn. 

The  mountain-tops  below  this  utmost  height 

Are  still  in  shadow ;   in  the  vale  't  is  night. 


MIDSUMMER  ON  MOUNT  DESERT.  63 

Afar  the  ocean  slumbers,  and  it  seems 

Upon  its  tranquil  breast 
To  clasp  its  islands,  lulled  last  night  to  sleep, 

In  morning's  sweeter  rest. 
For  leagues  away  the  sea  is  silent,  save 
Where  island  shores  feel  the  caressing  wave. 

But  from  the  forest  hills  which  circle  round, 

A  long,  low  bugle-note 
From  the  white-throated  sparrow  of  the  woods 

Begins  to  swell  and  float ; 
\   Bird  answers  bird ;  the  music  soars  until 
\  The  mountains  with  their  matin  chorus  thrill. 

Now  Nature  scarcely  breathes.     A  mellow  glow, 

Broader,  intenser,  higher, 
Flushes  the  eastern  world  from  zone  to  zone, 

And  —  are  the  clouds  on  fire? 
For  suddenly  a  dazzling  splendor  lights 
The  outer  edges  of  yon  heavenly  heights. 

It  is  the  signal-fire  !     The  lower  land, 

Hushed  and  unconscious  still, 
Delays  its  worship  till  the  coming  sun 

Salutes  the  monarch  hill. 
Awake,  ye  valleys  !  lift  the  jubilant  lay ! 
For  on  the  mountain-top  I  speak  alone  with  day ! 


64  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 


VII.     ECHO   LAKE. 

IN  sunset  beauty  lies  the  lake, 

A  limpid,  lustrous  splendor ! 
The  mists  which  wrapped  the  mountain  break, 
And  Storm  Cliff's  rugged  outlines  take 

An  aspect  warm  and  tender. 

Now  listen  !   for  a  spirit  dwells 

High  in  these  mountain  nooks  and  dells. 

Echo !  Echo  ! 

Hail  to  thee  !  Hail  to  thee  ! 

Sad  Echo,  mocked  of  all  her  kind, 
Here  haunts  the  fleeting  summer, 

And  sends  her  voice  upon  the  wind, 

Still  hoping  long  lost-love  to  find 
In  every  transient  comer. 

Not  where  'mid  silver  beeches  shines 

The  lake's  pellucid  fountain, 
But  high  o'er  tangled  shrubs  and  vines 
She  dwells  amid  the  spectral  pines, 

The  spectre  of  the  mountain. 


MIDSUMMER   ON  MOUNT  DESERT.  65 

Float  nearer  still  and  drop  the  oar, 

Here  where  the  lilies  glisten ; 
O  Echo,  we  return  no  more ; 
For  us  beyond  the  island  shore 

True  love  doth  long  and  listen. 

Thou  grievest  not,  nor  dost  rejoice, 
O  wandering,  solitary  Voice  ! 

Echo !  Echo  ! 

Farewell !  Farewell ! 


AT  SILVER  LAKE. 

you  feed  on  the  strength  of  the  hills, 
Would  you  drink  of  the  wine 
That  is  poured  from  the  balsamic  boughs 

Of  fir-tree  and  pine? 
Then  into  the  wilderness  come 

And  the  feast  partake, 
While  you  linger  and  rest  on  the  shore 
Of  fair  Silver  Lake. 

The  beautiful  hills  stand  near; 

At  daybreak  you  see 
The  mists  that  have  slept  all  night 

Under  cliff  and  tree; 
And  all  day  on  the  high  green  slopes 

The  sun  is  at  play 
With  the  shadows  that  stealthily  creep 

In  his  royal  way. 


AT  SILVER  LAKE.  6/ 

Warm  and  rich  is  the  light 

On  the  valleys  poured, 
Urging  to  verdure  profuse 

The  odorous  sward ; 
And  pure  and  keen  is  the  air 

From  the  mountains  brought, 
With  the  life  of  their  iron  springs 

Abundant  fraught. 

Not  by  the  loud-voiced  sea 

Is  such  deep  repose ; 
Not  on  the  briny  winds 

Such  healing  flows ; 
Nature  her  own  haunt  makes 

In  the  still,  green  wood, 
And  the  touch  of  her  hand  bestows 

But  in  solitude. 

Long  and  sweet  are  the  hours, 

And  when  night  grows  deep, 
The  waters  with  lullaby  rare 

Shall  sing  you  to  sleep ; 
Shall  soothe  you  with  musical  dreams, 

Till  at  dawn  you  awake 
To  find  a  new  day  looking  love 

On  fair  Silver  Lake. 


WELCOME  HOME. 

Read  at  the  unveiling  of  the  Westminster  Abbey  bust  of  Longfellow, 
at  Portland,  Me.  Feb.,  27,  1885. 

T^ACE  of  our  Bard  Beloved  !  clothed  upon 
•L       With  an  immortal  beauty,  welcome  home ! 
Bringing  the  crown  in  song's  dominion  won, 

To  the  dear  city  of  thy  boyhood,  come ! 
Though  now  no  more  the  wind  from  off  the  sea 
Shall  bring  the  "long,  long  thoughts  of  youth"  to  thee. 


Loyal  and  fond  thy  heart  to  us  was  turned 
From  prouder  seats  of  honor  and  renown; 

Through  shadowing  years  thy  memory  still  discerned 
The  haunts  and  faces  of  the  seaside  town. 

And  we,  though  round  the  world  thy  songs  had  flown, 

Rejoiced  to  know  the  minstrel  was  our  own. 


WELCOME  HOME.  69 

From  yonder  waves  that  moan  along  the  bay, 
From  yonder  woods  that  whisper  of  thy  fame, 

Awoke  the  themes  of  many  a  soaring  lay 

Whose  wings,  unfurled,  were  dipped  in  sunrise  flame. 

Here  Nature  taught  thee  her  serenest  truth, 

And  gave  thy  soul  to  drink  of  deathless  youth. 

Sovereign  of  hearts !  It  was  thy  heritage 
A  rare  and  happy  realm  to  have  and  hold ; 

Magician !  bringing  forth  from  every  age 

Treasures,  time-worn,  and  changing  them  to  gold  ; 

Priest !  at  the  altar  of  the  world's  delight, 

With  garments  beautiful  and  always  white. 

For  shone  abroad  thy  fair  and  full-orbed  life 
With  the  still  radiance  of  a  morning  star, 

And  fell  thy  songs,  on  days  of  cloud  and  strife, 
Like  bells  of  peace  rung  clearly  from  afar ; 

The  latest  cadence  wafted  on  the  air, 

Thy  life's  Amen,  —  "'Tis  daybreak  everywhere!" 

Oh,  well  may  generous  England  give  a  place 
To  thee  among  her  sons  of  song  sublime  ! 

No  purer  life  that  haunted  shrine  shall  grace, 
No  sweeter  voice  ring  down  the  aisles  of  time. 

Yet  we,  with  tenderer  worship,  lift  above 

Thy  laurels  the  undying  rose  of  love. 


THE  HARVEST  OF  LILIES. 

'TpO  the  angel  oflight  who  stands  nearest, 

•*-      Illumined  by  rays  from  the  throne, 
Who  bears  forth  His  messages  dearest, 

When  He  comforts  and  strengthens  His  own, 
Speaks  the  Saviour,  —  "  The  Easter  bells  ringing 

Waft  echoes  that  reach  to  the  sky; 
From  gardens  of  bloom,  freshly  springing, 

Bring  flowers  for  my  Temple  on  high !  " 

Then  the  angel,  with  wings  of  white  splendor, 

Speeds  far  through  the  song-sounding  land, 
And  he  gathers  the  flowers  pure  and  tender 

Which  April  uplifts  in  her  hand. 
He  lingers  by  chancel  and  altar 

Where  the  souls  of  the  lilies  arise ; 
Then  with  pinions  that  stay  not  nor  falter 

He  bears  them  with  joy  to  the  skies. 


THE  HARVEST  OF  LILIES. 

"  Dear  flowers  !  of  my  earth-life  a  token, 

Remembrance  most  precious  they  bring 
Of  the  hour,  when,  the  death-slumber  broken, 

Every  bud  woke  to  welcome  its  king. 
But  from  hearts  yet  unsullied  by  sadness 

Steal  perfumes  far  sweeter  above ; 
From  lips  warm  with  praises  and  gladness, 

Go  gather  the  lilies  of  Love !  " 

In  wonder,  yet  swiftly  and  lightly, 

He  stoops  once  again  to  the  earth ; 
And  behold  !  the  blest  flowers  springing  brightly 

Where  joy  and  affection  have  birth. 
Unseen,  but  of  sweetness  immortal, 

In  warm,  grateful  hearts  they  unfold ; 
And  the  angel  bears  back  to  Heaven's  portal 

Rose-petals  with  chalice  of  gold. 

"  Go  once  more,  and  be  sorrow's  evangel ! 

There  are  graves  where  the  desolate  grieve, 
Through  tears  that  would  blind  thee,  O  angel ! 

There  are  some  who  adore  and  believe. 
There  are  spirits  in  anguish  victorious, 

There  are  hopes  which  no  warfare  can  scathe, 
Most  fragrant  and  starlike  and  glorious,  — 

Go,  bring  me  the  lilies  of  Faith  !  " 


72  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

A  moment  is  stillness  in  Heaven, 

For  woe  is  a  mystery  there, 
And  trust,  to  the  sorrowing  given, 

They  need  not  who  cannot  despair. 
But  when,  from  the  winged  one  returning, 

Christ  presses  these  flowers  to  His  breast, 
Heaven's  shrine  with  fresh  incense  is  burning, 

And  Easter  is  shared  by  the  Blest ! 


i 


MOTHERLESS. 

SAW  two  song-birds  in  the  spring 
Nest-building  in  the  elm-tree's  shade,  — 
Ah,  shrill  and  sweet  their  music  through  the  glade ! 
For  life  is  such  a  joyous  thing 
When  birds  are  building  in  the  spring. 

And  later,  when  the  dawns  were  long, 
At  earliest  break  of  day  I  heard 
The  call  of  nestlings  and  of  mother-bird. 

The  boughs  were  full  of  scent  and  song, 
And  love  their  theme  the  whole  day  long. 

But  what  swift  gleam  of  happier  state, 
What  luring  voice  of  sky  or  star 
Suddenly  bade  the  mother  soar  afar, 

Leaving  on  wind-rocked  boughs  her  mate 
And  songless  birdlings  desolate? 


74  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

Oh,  who  can  know  her  skyward  quest? 
Yet  is  she  fled,  and  evermore 
She  sings  apart  upon  an  unknown  shore. 
O  mother-bird  !     O  broken  nest ! 
O  storm-clouds  hanging  in  the  west ! 


THE  MORNING  SONG. 


T3  EJOICE,  O  world,  rejoice ! 
•*-^1     Some  magic  among  the  trees 
Is  touching  a  thousand  musical  keys, 
And  the  morning  has  found  a  voice. 


The  robins  are  come  again 

With  tender,  melodious  note ; 

The  blue-bird  trills  from  his  delicate  throat 

A  music  like  summer  rain. 

From  the  field  by  the  river's  brink, 
Where  violets  hide  his  nest, 
Soars  high  with  a  canticle  of  the  blest 
The  jubilant  bobolink ; 


76  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

And  the  golden  oriole, 
In  the  snow-white  apple  boughs, 
Pours  his  rich  note  and  singing  glows 
Like  a  flower  that  has  found  a  soul ! 

Swallow  and  sparrow  are  glad ; 

The  very  skies  of  May 

Are  thrilling  with  sound  at  break  of  day, 

And  the  young  Year,  music-mad, 

In  flowers  his  tribute  pays,  — 

Purple  and  white  and  rose, 

While  forth  from  the  beautiful  bird-choir  flows 

The  rapture  of  Nature's  praise. 


NOT  OF  THE  WORLD. 

T  OFTEN  think  that  God  loves  best  the  flowers 
•*•     Which  bloom  for  Him  alone,  which  are  not  seen    ' 
By  worldly  eyes,  nor  plucked  for  worldly  bowers, — 
Stars  of  the  wildwood,  lustrous  and  serene. 

Fair  in  His  sight  may  be  the  victor  rose 

Which  bursts  in  bloom  the  hero's  hour  to  greet, 

And  dear  the  purple  amaranth  which  grows 
Spontaneous  underneath  His  singers'  feet; 

But  the  lone  violet  which  for  love's  own  sake    I 
Its  life  exhales  in  pure,  unconscious  good,     I 

Some  sunless  glen  a  glowing  shrine  to  make, 
With  urn  of  incense  in  the  solitude,  — 

Not  with  the  greenwood  roof  its  sweetness  ends, 

Though  moss  and  mould  hold  close  the  slender  spire; 

Warmly  the  Heart  of  Heaven  above  it  bends, 
And  a  new  note  thrills  Nature's  answering  lyre. 


THE   MISTAKE   OF  THE   FAIRIES. 


A 


ROVING  child 

Once  fell  sleep  within  a  fairies'  ring. 
It  was  in  June,  when  many  a  viewless  thing 
Has  breath  and  motion  in  the  breezes  mild ; 
When  every  leaf  conceals  a  fluttering  wing, 
As  at  their  blossom-work  the  thronging  fairies  sing. 

The  startled  fays, 

Suddenly  hindered  in  their  sweet  employ, 
Circled  around  the  fair,  unconscious  boy, 
With  quick  resentment  in  their  sparkling  gaze. 
Yet  now  within  their  ring  one  boon  of  joy 
They  must  bestow,  one  gift  without  alloy. 

Then  each  in  turn 
Spoke  hastily,  her  largess  to  deny; 
Wealth,  Beauty,  Power,  and  Pomp  unkindly  cry, 
"  For  our  rich  bounty  vainly  shall  he  yearn !  " 
Love  pitying  looked,  but  slowly  passed  him  by,  — 
Poor  infant !  in  his  sleep  he  stirred  and  breathed  a  sigh. 


r 

THE  MISTAKE  OF  THE  FAIRIES.  79 

At  last  the  queen 

Bent  o'er  his  fragrant  locks  and  lingered  long 
To  see  how  rosily  he  slept  among 
The  wrathful  fairies,  helpless  but  serene. 
"  Wake,  child  !  "  she  said.     "  I  would  not  do  thee 

wrong, 
But  I  can  only  grant  the  simple  gift  of  song." 

O  queen  unwise ! 

Unwitting  of  the  mischief  thou  hast  done, 
No  finer  charm  was  yet  by  fairies  spun, 
Opening  all  treasure  to  his  waking  eyes. 
What  good  is  hid  from  him,  beneath  the  sun, 
Who  in  this  magic  power  the  world  itself  has  won  ? 


A  SWEDISH   DRINKING-HORN. 

T     OOK  on  this  Drinking-horn, 
•*— **     Brought  from  old  Norseland, 
Here  amid  trophies 

Of  other  days  placed ; 
It  stands  upon  silver  feet 
Wrought  well  and  quaintly, 
Its  broad  lid  of  silver 

Heavily  chased. 

Grand  was  the  wassail, 
When  first  this  beaker, 
Foaming  with  yellow  mead, 

Passed  round  the  board ; 
Loud  rang  the  voices 
Of  bard  and  of  chieftain, 
When  to  the  mighty  names 

Freely  they  poured. 


A  SWEDISH  DRINKING-HORN.  8 1 

Or  when  the  midnight 
Beamed  like  the  morning, 
And  minstrels  sat  watching 

The  midsummer  out, 
The  rosy  hours  ringing 
With  praises  of  Baldur, 
This  lordly  cup  passed  with 

The  song  and  the  shout. 

Now  in  a  stately 

And  beautiful  chamber, 

Rich  in  the  treasures 

The  scholar  holds  dear, 
Relic  of  ages  past, 
Stands  the  old  Drinking-horn, 
Empty  of  vintage 

And  silent  of  cheer. 

Yet  call  it  not  empty ! 
Over  the  shining  lid 
Leap  wordless  echoes 
Of  revel  from  far  ; 
Icelandic  saga 
And  skald-song  of  Sweden, 
And  Hail  of  the  Vikings 

Home-coming  from  war ! 
6 


82  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

It  rings  with  the  clangor 
Of  songs  that  are  ended, 
It  sparkles  with  splendor 

Of  festivals  fled ! 
Oh,  touch  it  lightly 
With  reverent  fingers,  — 
It  brims  with  the  wonderful 

Wine  of  the  Dead  ! 


MY   INDIAN   SISTER. 

ON  my  threshold  yesterday, 
Like  the  April  morning  smiling, 
Stood  a  dark-eyed  Indian  dame, 
With  soft  speech  my  ear  beguiling. 


Baskets  of  all  hues  she  showed, 
Blue,  gold,  red,  in  rainbow  order, 

Woven  of  sweet-scented  grass 

From  Old  Orchard's  ocean  border. 


"  Buy  them,  sister?  "     One  by  one, 
With  a  loving  touch  she  fingered ; 

I,  with  little  basket  lore, 

Charmed  by  her  sweet  accents,  lingered, 


84  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

While  she  told  their  use  and  worth, 
In  her  face  I  read  her  story,  — 

Simple  fulness  of  content, 
Unaware  of  worldly  glory. 

In  the  winter  snugly  housed 

On  Penobscot's  white-walled  island ; 

Tenting  free  in  summer  days 
By  sea  beach  and  airy  highland ; 

Fire  beneath  the  greenwood-tree 
Lighting  all  her  loved  ones'  faces, — 

What  cared  she  that  deeds  of  fame 
Stirred  the  world  in  far-off  places  ? 

Was  I  sure  that  fortune's  boons 

Best  and  happiest  had  missed  her,  — 

This  strong,  smiling  one  who  looked 
In  my  eyes  and  called  me  "  sister  "  ? 

All  that  to  my  life  would  come 
As  its  best  and  brightest  guerdon, 

On  her  simple  soul  would  lay 
An  unutterable  burden. 


MY  INDIAN  SISTER.  85 

Of  her  store  I  took  at  last 

A  gay  blue  and  crimson  treasure, 

Lightly  wondering  which  had  given 
To  the  other  greater  pleasure. 

Some  day  I  may  greet  again 

Her  glad  face,  beyond  the  River; 

Near  of  kin  we  there  may  be : 
Good-by  "  sister,"  —  not  forever. 


BY  THE   PISCATAQUIS. 

IN  the  gray  wintry  morning 
I  woke  to  hear  the  fall 
Of  the  river  over  the  milldam, 
With  the  old  familiar  call,  — 

The  hoarse  and  muffled  murmur, 
Solemn  and  deep  and  strong, 

Which  lulled  my  childhood's  slumber 
And  grew  into  my  song. 

Now,  after  years  returning, 
With  gladness  and  with  pain 

I  listen  and  make  answer 

To  the  speaking  waves  again. 


BY  THE  PISCATAQUIS.  8/ 

O  River,  bid  me  welcome  ! 

I  have  journeyed  far  and  long 
Since  first  I  saw  thy  sparkle, 

And  heard  thy  daybreak  song ; 


And  they  are  gone  who  sported 
Beside  thy  rose-rimmed  shore  ; 

My  heart  returns  to  meet  them, 
But  they  answer  me  no  more. 

The  bravest  and  the  gentlest 
Sleep  near  thy  lulling  wave ; 

And  one,  —  thy  waters  call  him  far, 
But  cannot  find  his  grave. 

Ah,  that  he  too  might  slumber 
Under  flag  and  flowery  tree, 

Where  thy  low  perpetual  measure 
Should  bear  him  company ! 

Oh,  tell  me,  rushing  current, 
When  the  evening  wind  is  low, 

Do  the  voices  of  those  lost  ones 
Around  thee  come  and  go? 


88  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

Thou  givest  me  no  answer; 

My  question  does  thee  wrong, 
The  joy  of  the  Forever 

Is  the  burden  of  thy  song. 

Thou  stayest  not  for  losses, 
Thou  hast  no  part  with  woe ; 

Thy  theme  is  of  To-morrow, 
And  not  of  Long  Ago. 

There  is  no  lamentation 
In  Nature's  faithful  breast; 

The  leaves  that  fall  beside  thee 
She  covers  up  to  rest; 

The  lives  that  fall  and  wither 
She  holds  as  close  and  dear, 

Yet  bids  thee  flow  as  brightly 
As  if  they  still  were  here. 

I  would  not  bid  thee  linger 
To  grieve  o'er  voices  gone ; 

Into  the  further  sunlight 
I,  too,  would  follow  on. 


A  WATER-LILY. 

THOU  nymph  of  woodland  waters, 
White  Naiad  of  the  lake  ! 
No  flower  of  field  or  forest 

Thy  beauty's  crown  may  take. 
Thy  creamy  petals  glisten 

With  glamours  manifold ; 
A  magic  and  a  witchery 
Are  in  thy  heart  of  gold. 

With  cheek  upon  the  ripple, 

As  pure  as  falling  snow, 
Thou  wooedst  me  to  linger; 

I  could  not  let  thee  go. 
And  when  thy  lip  of  fragrance 

So  softly  touched  my  own, 
I  felt  a  recognition 

Even  to  my  heart  had  flown. 


90  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

Thus  did  Undine  the  peerless, 

In  wonder-tale  of  old, 
Uprising  from  the  billow, 

Her  destiny  behold. 
No  more  in  soulless  joyance 

To  dance  beneath  the  tide, 
A  human  heart  had  sought  her,  — 

She  looked,  and  loved,  and  died ! 

And  now,  the  cool  oar  dripping, 

The  ripple's  broken  song, 
The  bird  that  in  the  alders 

Was  chirping  low  and  long, 
The  glitter  of  the  sunshine, 

The  sky's  entrancing  blue, 
One  perfect  day  of  summer 

From  dawn  to  twilight  dew,— 

All  these  I  press,  together 

With  this  transcendent  flower, 
Within  the  book  of  poems 

Which  cheers  my  lonely  hour; 
The  minstrel  and  his  verses 

The  sweeter  for  thy  sake, 
O  poet  of  the  waters, 

White  Naiad  of  the  lake! 


SUMMER'S  PROMISE. 


are  ^e  haPPy  days  °f  summer  come  !  " 
Shouts  the  glad  child  ;  "  now  on  the  grassy  lea 

I  '11  chase  the  humming-bird  and  golden  bee, 
And  hunt  the  Rainbow  in  her  secret  home." 
Youth  says  :   "  It  will  be  happiness  to  roam 

On  the  wide  hills  and  by  the  gleaming  sea; 

Hasten,  O  rosy  days,  and  crown  for  me 
Life's  goblet  high  with  pleasure's  fairy  foam  !  " 
The  summer  brings  a  promise  all  her  own 

To  each  and  all  ;   even  he  whose  days  are  long, 

Of  world-work  weary,  and  from  whom  the  fair 
Illusion,  Pleasure,  is  forever  flown, 
Looks  upward  when  he  hears  the  year's  new  song, 

And  answers,  "  It  is  always  summer  there  !  " 


THE  TWO   LIGHTS. 

\  1  7ITH  a  bold  and  brilliant  lustre 
*  *      From  the  isle  across  the  bay 
The  lamp  in  the  lighthouse  turret 

Sends  forth  its  evening  ray. 
As  over  the  waters  that  roll  between 
Falls  its  burnished  pathway  of  golden  sheen, 
How  pale  in  the  distance,  how  dim  and  far, 
Shines  the  evening  star ! 

So  the  joy  of  the  living  present, 

The  human  and  palpable  bliss, 
Outdazzles  the  heaven  above  us, 

So  near  and  so  precious  is  this. 
While  there 's  warmth  for  the  heart  and  delight  for  the 

eye, 

We  heed  not  the  glory  that  bends  from  the  sky ; 
Yet  over  us,  patient  and  changeless  and  far, 
Shines  eternity's  star ! 


THE  FOREST  BROOK. 


in  the  greenwood  a  brooklet  wanders 
Under  the  quivering  alder-leaves, 
Through  glimmering  tree-tops  a  mellow  lustre, 
A  veil  of  silver,  the  sunlight  weaves. 


Home  of  the  twilight,  mystical,  moody, 
Flutter  of  bird-wings,  whisper  of  boughs, 

Ever  with  pleading  and  fond  entreaty 
The  brooklet  murmurs  as  on  it  flows. 


Dark-blue  violets  love  to  open 

Their  dusky  eyes  in  this  fairy  glen, 

Listen  awhile  to  the  singing  ripples, 
Droop  in  the  gloaming  and  dream  again. 


94  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

Never  weary  of  sweet  communing, 
Brook  and  violets  here  are  met ; 

Pure  and  fair  in  their  summer  wooing, 
Who  that  listens  can  e'er  forget? 

Oh,  how  peaceful  this  rare  seclusion ! 

Hither  with  yearning  steps  I  come ; 
Rivulet,  singing  my  childhood's  story, 

Flowers  of  the  forest,  ye  call  me  home ! 


A  MESSAGE. 

0   ISLAND  of  Bermuda, 
Rose-garden  of  the  deep  ! 
Your  brightest  bloom  and  verdure 

For  one  dear  stranger  keep. 
Of  our  rude  winters  weary, 

She  seeks  your  kinder  air; 
Let  the  pure  wine  of  summer  suns 
For  her  be  treasured  there. 

O  coral-reefed  Bermuda ! 

When  first  upon  your  shore 
She  listens  to  the  greeting 

Your  white-robed  billows  pour, 
Let  not  one  stormy  measure 

The  peaceful  music  stir ; 
Bid  all  your  ©cean  harpers  wake 

Their  gentlest  tones  for  her. 


96  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

O  spice-winds  of  Bermuda ! 

When  at  the  close  of  day, 
Amid  the  green  palmettos 

You  lightly  toss  and  play, 
If  she  should  pause  beneath  them, 

Oh,  bring  your  odors  sweet, 
Until  the  heart  of  summer-time 

Is  lavished  at  her  feet. 

O  roses  of  Bermuda ! 

Wear  now  your  richest  dyes ; 
For  she  who  bends  above  you 

Looks  with  a  poet's  eyes  ! 
The  answer  to  her  rapture 

In  words  you  cannot  speak ; 
But  give  your  warmest,  ruddiest  tints 

To  live  upon  her  cheek ! 


REST  AND   HEALING. 


I. 


REST,  only  rest !  even  if  it  be  to  sleep 
In  long  oblivion  to  be  wholly  blest ; 
For  life  is  a  long  weariness  at  best, 
And  into  utter  stillness  I  would  creep. 
Out  of  the  whirl  and  clamor,  in  the  deep 
And  close  embrace  of  Nature's  mother-breast, 
Let  pulseless  hands  to  pulseless  heart  be  pressed, 
Forgetting  how  to  labor  or  to  weep. 
Even  my  soul's  self,  uplifted  from  that  bed, 

Though  angels  throng  to  meet  and  comfort  me, 
Eager  to  know  my  dearest,  first  request, 
Would  say  to  them,  "  If  time  indeed  is  fled, 

And  this  be  measureless  eternity, 
Let  Heaven's  first  boon  and  blessedness  be  rest !  " 

7 


98  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 


II. 


BUT  this  would  pass,  for  even  as  I  dream 
Of  such  Nirvana  as  the  utmost  goal, 
My  thoughts  rebel  against  its  long  control, 

And  turn  dismayed  from  Lethe's  waveless  stream. 

Soon  would  the  faces,  hovering  o'er  me,  seem 
Out  of  a  rosy,  luminous  cloud  to  roll, 
And  eyes  of  love  would  gaze  into  my  soul, 

Piercing  its  slumber  with  a  living  beam. 

Not  rest  but  joy  will  be  the  spirit's  cure ; 
The  sunrise  splendor  of  such  happiness 
As  lures  me  now  in  semblance  and  in  sign ; 

Fresh  will  life's  current  flow,  and  swift  and  pure, 

When  hands  of  healing  to  my  lips  shall  press 
The  sacrament  of  that  celestial  wine. 


A  DREAM   INTERPRETED. 

I   DREAMED  my  friend  came  back  to  me 
With  the  same  look  she  wore  of  old,  — 
The  soft  brown  hair,  the  beaming  glance, 
Which  I  no  more  behold. 

I  thought  I  made  my  table  bright 

With  sparkling  crystal,  fruit,  and  flower, 

As  one  makes  haste  to  deck  the  board 
When  nears  the  festal  hour ; 


And  while  all  stood  expectant  by 

And  wondered  who  my  guest  would  be, 

I  opened  wide  the  outer  door 
And  called  aloud  on  thee. 


IOO  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

No  sound  came  from  the  clouded  sky, 
The  night  seemed  empty  as  before ; 

But  suddenly  I  saw  thee  stand 
Smiling  within  my  door. 

With  eager  words  and  lingering  gaze 
I  led  thee  to  my  outspread  board ; 

My  hands,  that  trembled  with  delight, 
The  wine  of  welcome  poured. 

I  woke ;  and  at  the  window-pane 
I  heard  the  wintry  tempest  moan. 

Alas  !  it  swept  thy  hillside  grave 
Defenceless  and  alone. 


Yet  though  the  grave  is  dark  and  deep, 
And  cold  and  high  even  heaven  may  be, 

If  only  in  my  dreams,  thou  still 
Wilt  come  and  sup  with  me. 

Thy  angelhood  will  oft  again 

With  me  the  wine  of  joy  partake; 

Thy  pitying  presence  at  my  side 
The  bread  of  sorrow  break. 


A   DREAM  INTERPRETED. 

Death  shuts  and  bars  the  door  in  vain, 
Faith  flings  the  portal  wide, 

And  shows  the  lost  one  smiling  still 
Just  on  the  other  side. 


101 


THE   RAINBOW. 


TJ  RIDGE  of  enchantment !  for  a  moment  hung 


D 


Between  the  tears  of  earth  and  smiles  of  heaven, 


Surely  the  sheen  of  jasper,  sapphire,  gold, 
Flashes  and  burns  along  thy  colors  seven, 
And  to  the  lifted  heart,  the  beaming  eye, 
Reveals  the  splendor  of  the  upper  sky. 

Whether  as  Northmen  dream,  the  hero's  soul 

Enters  its  rest  across  thy  brilliant  height ; 
Or,  as  the  more  melodious  Greek  hath  told, 
Iris  descends  with  message  of  delight ; 
Or  in  the  silence  beautiful  is  heard 
The  still,  small  whisper  of  the  Hebrew  Word ; 

Welcome  forever  to  a  stormy  world, 

Dear  in  each  sign  and  symbol  of  the  past 
As  of  the  future ;  for  our  Hope  shall  climb 
Thy  lustrous  arch  to  realms  unseen  and  vast ; 
Peace  shall  come  down  to  us,  and  in  thy  light 
God's  finger  still  the  golden  Promise  write ! 


THE  FRIARS  OF  CASTINE. 

TV  /T  IDSUMMER'S  prime  is  come  at  last,  — 
•LVA     The  white-winged  hour  delayed  so  long, 
With  sunlight's  sparkle  on  its  plume, 

And  ocean's  murmur  in  its  song ; 
It  finds  me  musing  o'er  thy  scene 
Of  storied  beauty,  fair  Castine ! 

From  this  green  rampart's  velvet  height 

The  island  village  lies  in  view, 
On  every  side  a  ribbon  bright 

Encircling  it,  of  ocean  blue ; 
While  seaward  vanishes  away 
Against  the  sky  the  sparkling  bay. 


IO4  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

Who,  looking  on  these  tranquil  isles 
Which  drowsing  in  the  sunshine  lie,  — 

These  ships  like  sea-birds  on  the  wing 
Just  hovering  between  sea  and  sky,  — 

Would  dream  this  scene  of  summer  charm 

Had  ever  known  the  drum's  alarm? 

But  not  on  battle's  call  nor  charge 

My  restful  thought  to-day  would  dwell ; 

On  yonder  field  of  sloping  green 

Both  friend  and  foeman  slumber  well. 

The  monks  of  old  Acadian  fame 

This  summer  hush  and  reverie  claim. 

The  saintly  friars,  —  Capuchin,  — 

Here  found  a  place  for  work  and  prayer ; 

Amid  the  forest's  silent  gloom 
A  chapel  builded,  rude  and  bare, 

And  to  "  Our  Lady  "  sought  to  raise 

In  "  Holy  Hope  "  the  chant  of  praise. 

The  New  World  held  no  glittering  lure 
To  win  them  from  their  native  land ; 

To  hermit  life  and  rigorous  toil 

They  came,  a  self-devoted  band,  — 

To  bed  of  boughs,  to  scanty  food, 

And  savage-haunted  solitude. 


THE  FRIARS  OF  CAS  TINE.  105 

At  midnight  rose  their  matin-hymn, 

With  only  startled  birds  to  hear, 
At  morn  and  eve  in  silent  prayer 

They  sought  the  Virgin's  pitying  ear, 
And  brave  and  patient  wrought  to  bless 
The  children  of  the  wilderness. 

Self-exiled  from  the  sweet  south  land 
And  all  its  favored  clime  had  given, 

Well  pleased  when  with  some  sacred  drops 
An  Indian  child  was  signed  for  heaven,  — 

Our  simpler  worship,  purer  creed, 

May  honor  long  such  lofty  deed. 

The  petals  of  the  sunset  rose 

Are  falling  fast  upon  the  bay ; 
"Ave  Maria"  do  I  hear, 

Fainting  and  fading  with  the  day? 
Such  echoes  of  the  past,  I  ween, 
Shall  ever  hallow  old  Castine. 


THE  VIGIL  OF   THE   YEAR. 

THE  year  has  passed  to  its  gloaming 
With  a  splendor  of  red  and  gold, 
As  if  from  the  heavens  a  billow 
Of  the  sunset  fire  had  rolled ; 

As  if  caught  in  the  tremulous  branches, 

And  lost  on  the  hills  afar, 
Were  thousands  of  wandering  sunbeams 

That  had  strayed  from  the  gates  ajar! 

How  deep  is  the  hush  of  the  woodlands ! 

And  over  the  meadows  chill, 
Where  the  summer  song  rang  loudest, 

Now  all  is  strangely  still. 

Is  it  that  Nature  calls  us 

Her  service  of  peace  to  share,  — 
After  the  song  the  silence, 

After  the  praise  the  prayer? 


THE   VIGIL   OF  THE   YEAR.  IO/ 

Answer,  O  restless  spirit, 

And  heart  that  is  cold  and  sere, 
To  the  wordless  expectation 

That  breathes  from  the  passing  year. 

For  far  in  the  darkening  forest 

The  holly  grows  ripe  and  red, 
And  a  new  prophetic  lustre 

On  the  sky  of  the  east  is  shed. 

Watch  thou  !  for  the  hour  is  breaking 

When,  with  lips  no  longer  dumb, 
To  the  whisper,  "  The  Christ  is  coming !  " 

Thou  shalt  answer  with  song,  "  He  is  come  !  " 


A  SCARLET  LEAF. 

r  I^HIS  scarlet  bough  which  hangs  above  my  door 
-••      Is  a  perpetual  picture  of  the  woods, 
And  of  a  lake,  with  fringe  of  forest  shore, 
Deep  in  their  solitudes. 

I  see  the  silver  ripples  as  they  toss 

Against  the  long,  unbroken  line  of  green, 

The  red  flame  of  the  sumac  thrown  across 
The  hillside's  darker  screen ; 

And  where  the  breezy  waters  reach  to  lave 
The  path  that  winds  beneath  a  broken  crag, 

One  scarlet  maple  hangs  above  the  wave 
October's  warning  flag. 

It  was  a  place  where  Nature's  self  might  lose 
All  kinship  with  the  restless  human  heart. 

Yet  even  here  I  could  not  idly  muse 
And  unperceived  depart; 


A  SCARLET  LEAF.  log 

For  all  the  witching  wood-nymphs  were  astir 
To  bring  their  treasures  to  my  passing  gaze ; 

I  heard  swift,  rushing  feet  in  pine  and  fir, 
Soft  wings  amid  the  haze. 

And  thus  the  sylvan  fays  in  silent  glee 
Garnered  the  forest  in  my  broken  sheaf. 

Woods,  waves,  and  skies,  —  I  keep  them  still  with  me 
Upon  a  scarlet  leaf! 


THE  ANSWER. 

people  bore  him  with  a  strong  appeal 
Unto  the  very  altar  of  the  Lord. 
Not  two  or  three,  —  the  world  with  one  accord 
Prayed  that  the  Father  would  this  once  reveal 
His  healing  power,  and  trust  with  blessing  seal. 

"  Let    not,"  they    cried,   "  this    priceless    blood    be 

poured ! 

This  man  so  just,  so  mindful  of  thy  word, 
Go  down  to  death,  while  nations  for  him  kneel ! " 
Fame,    Freedom,    Love    sighed,    "  Help    this    mortal 

strife  !  " 

The  Lord  made  answer,  "  He  indeed  shall  live'' 
Then  lifted  him  among  those  orbs  on  high 
Who  have  outlived  the  mystery  of  our  life. 
Ah !  now  we  know  though  earth  had  much  to  give, 
For  him  it  was  more  glorious  to  die ! 


SUMMER'S  SLEEP. 

WHY  this  golden  silence 
In  the  air  and  sky? 
Listen  !  from  the  woodlands 

Lonely  breezes  sigh ; 
Through  the  empty  branches, 

Long  and  low  and  deep 
Murmurs  Nature's  slumber  song,  - 
Summer  lies  asleep. 

On  her  sun-bright  tresses 

Withered  roses  lie ; 
Sea  and  shore  responsive 

Sound  her  lullaby. 
Drowsy  little  rivulets 

Nestle  out  of  sight ; 
Summer  sleeps,  and  all  the  world 

Feels  the  hush  of  night. 


112  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

Watched  by  sombre  shadows, 

Wrapt  in  fleecy  snow, 
Nothing  of  the  storm-strife 

Shall  the  dreamer  know. 
Though  from  midnight  steeple 

Calls  the  Christmas  bell, 
Joy  nor  woe  shall  waken  her ; 

She  will  slumber  well. 

But  at  last  a  clamor, 

Musical  and  clear, 
In  the  April  daybreak 

Will  salute  her  ear. 
Only  love's  sweet  accents 

Can  her  slumber  break; 
To  her  own  dear  birds  and  flowers 

Summer  will  awake. 


COUNSEL. 

OOK  up,  —  not  down !  "    The  mists  that  chill  and 

blind  thee, 

Strive  with  pale  wings  to  take  a  sunward  flight ; 
Upward  the  green  boughs  reach ;  the  face  of  Nature, 

Watchful  and  glad,  is  lifted  to  the  light. 
The  strength  that  saves  comes  never  from  the  ground, 
But  from  the  mountain- tops  that  shine  around. 

"  Look  forward,  — and  not  back !  "     Each  lost  endeavor 

May  be  a  step  upon  thy  chosen  path ; 
All  that  the  past  withheld,  in  larger  measure, 

Somewhere  in  willing  trust  the  future  hath. 
Near  and  more  near  the  Ideal  stoops  to  meet 
The  steadfast  coming  of  unfaltering  feet. 


THE  WOODS  OF  MAINE. 

TO  all  the  wide,  wild  woods  of  Maine 
The  singing  birds  have  come  again ; 
In  thicket  dense  and  skyward  bough 
Their  nests  of  love  are  builded  now ; 
And  daybreak  hears  one  blithesome  strain 
From  all  the  wide,  wild  woods  of  Maine. 

In  all  the  deep,  green  woods  of  Maine 
The  myriad  wild-flowers  wake  again ; 
On  mossy  knoll,  by  whispering  rill, 
Their  new  life  opens,  shy  and  still ; 
Unseen,  unknown,  as  spring  days  wane, 
They  sweeten  all  the  woods  of  Maine. 

The  fair  and  fragrant  woods  of  Maine ! 
To  dwellers  far  on  shore  and  plain 


THE    WOODS  OF  MAINE. 

The  forest's  breath  of  healing  flows 
In  every  wandering  wind  that  blows ; 
And  life  throbs  fresh  in  every  vein, 
When  bloom  the  boundless  woods  of  Maine. 


Now  far  from  those  sweet  woods  of  Maine, 
The  song  comes  back,  a  sad  refrain ! 
These  pines  and  palms  that  speak  no  word 
Of  scenes  that  once  my  heart  have  stirred, 
This  cypress  shade,  these  ivy  bowers, 
And  long,  unceasing  march  of  flowers, 

Are  like  an  echo,  faint  and  drear, 

Of  music  I  have  ceased  to  hear. 

Oh,  while  your  choiring  boughs  you  dress 

In  spring  or  autumn  loveliness, 

The  green  and  gold  you  wear  in  vain 

For  one  who  loved  you,  woods  of  Maine ! 


UNDER  THE   PALM-TREE. 


THE  NEW  ITALY. 

A    HUNDRED  days  of  perfect  summer  sun, 
•£*-     And  yet  the  reign  of  splendor  is  not  done ! 
A  hundred  days,  each  like  a  living  flower 
Whose  amber  bud  unfurls  at  daybreak's  hour, 
Blossoms  at  mid-day  in  resplendent  white, 
And  falls  as  falls  the  dying  rose  at  night. 

Serene  and  smiling  land ! 

Watched  by  the  mountains  that  around  thee  stand, 

Rocked  on  the  calm  Pacific's  sheltering  breast, 

Beneath  the  golden  curtains  of  the  west, 

All  that  kind  Nature  gave  that  elder  clime, 

Her  sun-child  Italy, 

She  gives  anew  to  thee. 

All  that  once  made  that  summer-land  sublime 

Thine  own  may  be. 


I2O  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

The  skies  of  lustrous  blue, 

Heaven's  color  shining  through, 

The  vineyards  purpling  wide 

Valley  and  mountain-side, 

The  fig-tree's  shade,  the  dusky  cypress  screen, 

The  almond's  flag  of  white, 

The  palm's  broad  tent  of  coolness  and  delight, 

The  olive's  glossy  sheen, 

The  golden  orange  in  its  bower  of  green, 

The  soft  and  healing  airs  of  Italy, 

Nature  bestows  on  thee. 


And  more,  Italia's  wealth  of  bloom, 

Each  precious,  storied  flower 

With  Eden's  heritage  of  sweet  perfume 

Is  of  thy  later  dower. 

The  spicy  Eucalyptus  fills  the  air 

With  balsam  strong  and  rare ; 

The  graceful  pepper  and  the  laurel-tree, 

And  ivy  wreathing  all  most  royally, 

Make  beautiful  the  year. 

Thy  seasons  know  no  death,  for  here 

Time  no  decay  nor  desolation  knows,  — 

His  crown  a  fadeless  rose. 


THE  NEW  ITALY.  121 

In  that  rich  hour  when  day  and  night  keep  tryst, 
Lingering  as  lovers  in  the  purple  mist, 
When  in  a  sudden  ecstasy  expand 
The  thousand  odors  of  this  fragrant  land, 
Who  that  has  lived  amid  its  rare  delight, 
But  feels  his  spirit  quicken  with  the  sight 
Prophetic,  of  the  glories  to  be  wrought 
When  Art  to  Nature  has  her  offering  brought? 

O  Summer  Queen !     Thy  Rome  that  is  to  be, 

On  her  proud  hills  beside  the  sunset  sea 

Watches  the  hour  of  fate, 

When  Art,  a  pilgrim  from  her  first  estate, 

Shall  enter  triumphing  the  Golden  Gate ! 

When  through  thy  farthest  land, 

Where  now  the  crumbling  earthen  walls  alone 

Tell  of  the  century  flown, 

Strong  palaces  and  towers  of  fame  shall  stand, 

With  soaring  shaft,  and  statue  chastely  wrought, 

Each  like  a  speaking  thought, 

A  picture-language  known 

World  wide  and  all  thine  own. 

Let  not  the  sculptor  rear 

The  dead  gods  of  the  elder  nations  here. 

Our  own  dawn-heroes  wait 


122  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

The  touch  of  inspiration.     Lo  !  afar 

There  burned  for  ages  a  mysterious  star, 

A  watch-fire  on  a  mountain.     Long  and  late 

A  priestly  line  for  untold  centuries  kept 

That  fire  unquenched ;  for  one  whom  they  adored, 

The  sun-god  of  the  Orient,  who  had  poured 

His  mercy  and  his  splendor  on  the  land, 

Had  vanished,  ages-wept, 

Yet  promised  to  return.     That  fire  no  more 

Sparkles  upon  the  New  World's  midnight  shore. 

Gone  is  the  priestly  band  — 

He  comes  not  yet.     Oh,  let  the  sculptor  take 

That  form  sublime  !     Let  Quetzalcoatl  wake 

In  deathless  marble,  and  the  gods  who  long 

Inspired  the  Redman's  song 

Find  thus  their  second  coming,  risen  anew 

In  Art's  divinest  hue  ! 

The  Hindu  deems  that  in  each  human  breast, 
At  birth,  a  lotus-bud  is  closely  pressed. 
If  evil  rules  and  blights  the  growing  years, 
The  leaflet,  scentless,  shrunken,  disappears ; 
But  let  high  thoughts  and  lofty  deeds  have  sway, 
And  swell  the  lovely  petals  day  by  day, 
Till  in  the  prime  of  life,  a  priceless  dower, 
It  floods  the  spirit  with  its  radiant  flower. 


THE  NEW  ITALY.  12$ 

Youngest  and  fairest  nursling  of  the  West, 
The  lotus-bud  is  hidden  in  thy  breast 
In  rapt  expectancy  above  thee  bend 
Nature  thy  mother,  Art  thy  gracious  friend. 
Let  dreams  of  glory  now  thy  slumber  stir, 
Let  Genius  be  thy  dreams'  interpreter  ; 
So  shall  the  lotus-soul  within  thee  furled, 
Blossom  and  brighten  a  rejoicing  world. 


LOS  ANGELES. 

"  Nuestra  Senora  Reina  de  los  Angeles." 

SHE  sits  amid  her  orange-trees, 
Our  Lady  of  Los  Angeles, 
The  smiling  city  of  the  sun, 
And  counts  the  seasons  as  they  flee, 
Like  beads  from  off  a  rosary 

That  slip  and  sparkle  one  by  one. 

Upon  the  outer  solitudes 

The  demon  of  the  desert  broods, 

The  ocean  chafes  and  murmurs  near ; 
But  safe  within  her  garden  wall 
She  hears  these  ancient  foemen  call, 

With  tranquil,  inattentive  ear. 


LOS  ANGELES.  12$ 

At  close  of  day  from  yonder  height 
I  saw  her  robed  in  evening  light, 

One  white  star  like  an  opal  showing ; 
Her  roses  drooped  in  slumber  sweet, 
But  oh,  the  lilies  at  her  feet 

Upheld  their  censers  overflowing. 

"  Tell  me,"  I  said,  "  O  city  fair, 
What  dreams  pervade  this  sunset  air, 

What  memories  stir  this  purple  splendor? 
For  surely  magic  worketh  here, 
And  in  the  stillness  I  can  hear 

Reverberations  wild  yet  tender.'* 


Was   it  enchantment?      Suddenly   all    her    roses    had 

vanished ! 
Fled   were   the   vestal   lilies,  their  incense  spilled  and 

forsaken, 
Palace  and  cottage  were  gone,  and  the  orange-groves 

and  the  vineyards 
Rolled  away  like  a  wave  and  were  lost  in  the  ocean  of 

sunset. 
It  was  the  twilight  age,  when  gods  from  the  heaven 

descending, 


126  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

Choosing  some  grassy  dell  or  canon  bordered  with  pine- 
trees, 
Made  them  lodges  of  boughs  and  dwelt  among  men  and 

were  happy. 
But  one  unknown  to  them  all  had  chosen  this  for  her 

dwelling ; 
Perhaps  she  had  wandered  away  from  the  land  of  frost 

and  of  glacier, 
Or  come  from  the  cold  sea-deeps,  for  her  face  was  white, 

and  speechless 
She    glided    over   the    vale    with   a    graceful,    willowy 

motion. 
Her  robe  was  of  silvery  texture  with  woven  pearls  for 

her  girdle, 

Her  tresses  white  as  snow,  a  veil  of  ineffable  splendor, 
And  all  who  looked  in  her  face  reflected  its  luminous 

beauty. 
By  day  she  dwelt  unseen,  but  night  after   night   she 

wandered 

Pacing  soft  and  slow  the  dewy  emerald  verdure, 
And  if  some  child  awoke  and  cried  out  in  midnight 

terror, 
Lo !    she  stood  in  the  door  of  his  lodge  and  her  sweet 

look  calmed  him. 
Fain  would  the  children  of  men  have  kept  her  always 

among  them, 


LOS  ANGELES.  I2/ 

But  a  god,  more  mighty  than  they,  with  covetous  eyes 

looked  on  her; 
One  who  had  dwelt  with  them  long,  —  so  long  he  had 

almost  forgotten 
His  tent  in  the  starry  plains  and  the  hunting-grounds  of 

the  morning, — 
Followed  her  night  by  night  and  urged  her  to  hear  his 

devotion. 
"  High  over  hill  and  cloud,"  he  said,  "  let  us  journey 

together ; 

I  will  build  thee  a  lodge  afar  in  the  purple  meadows, 
With  curtains  of  fleecy  mist,  and  when  thou  shalt  walk 

at  even, 
The  stars  at  thy  feet  shall  blossom,  a  garden  of  golden 

daisies." 
Ah !  though  her  face  was  cold,  and  her  beautiful  lips 

were  silent, 

The  heart  within  her  was  warm  and  at  last  to  his  pas 
sion  responded. 
Then  came  a  night  when  in  vain  the  children  of  men 

watched  her  coming, — 
Hushed  were  the  fragrant  winds,  and  everywhere  silent, 

trembling, 
Old   and   young   looked   forth   and  waited   in   strange 

expectation. 
Suddenly,  up  in  the  sky,  forever  away  and  above  them, 


128  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

Shone  the  beautiful  face  enveloped  in  snow-white 
tresses, 

And  they  knew  that  the  god  who  loved  her  had  taken 
her  up  into  heaven  ! 

Age  after  age  they  bowed  before  her  in  fond  adora 
tion; 

For  though  she  was  now  the  Moon,  and  queen  of  the 
heavenly  gardens, 

Once  she  had  dwelt  among  them,  dwelt  in  Los  Angeles 
valley. 


O  Lady  of  Los  Angeles  ! 

Not  on  such  eerie  tales  as  these 

Let  now  thy  musing  fancy  feed ; 
Though  surely  never  moonlight  fell 
With  such  a  wild  enchanting  spell 

On  mount  or  glen  or  velvet  mead. 

It  was  thy  happier  fate  to  see 
The  Indians'  rude  idolatry 

Of  spirits  both  of  earth  and  heaven, 
Of  voices  in  the  darkness  heard, 
Of  serpent,  beast,  and  singing-bird, 

From  every  ancient  fastness  driven. 


LOS  ANGELES.  129 

What  loftier  music  fills  the  ear? 

What  forms  are  these,  approaching  near, 

Their  brows  alight  with  coming  day? 
While  up  the  shadowy  mountain-side 
The  sullen  tribes  of  darkness  glide, 

And  from  the  daybreak  hide  away? 


Again  a  twilight  veil  enshrouded  the  dreamland  valley, 
Again  the  walls  and  spires   and   blossoming   orchards 

vanished ; 
WTide  spread  the  silent  plain,  and  like  the  slow  path  of  a 

serpent 
Wound  over  glistening  sands  the  trail  of  Los  Angeles 

river. 
Silent   all,    did  I  say?     There  is  music   heard  in  the 

distance ! 
Nearer  it  swells  and  nearer,  a  clangor  of  gladness  and 

triumph. 
And  now,  distinct  to  the  vision,  approaches  a  strange 

procession. 

First  come  gray-haired  men,  the  soldiers  of  many  battles, 
Loyal    sons    of    Spain,    grown    old    in    her    honored 

service ; 
After  them  walk  the  Fathers,  priests  of  San  Gabriel 

Mission, 

9 


I3O  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

Their  Indian  neophytes  bearing  the  candles,  the  cross, 

and  the  banner 
On  which  like  a  holy  lily  is  painted  the  face  of  Our 

Lady. 
Women  were  there  and  children,  all  lifting  up  jubilant 

voices, 
For  here  henceforth  was  their  home,  the  royal  gift  of 

their  monarch. 
Home !  the  word  on  their  lips  was  sweet  as  the  dew  of 

heaven ! 
Wayworn  soldiers'  wives,  who  had  wandered  and  wept 

full  sorely 
Since  on  the  hills  of  Spain  their  dark  eyes  lingered  in 

parting. 
And  oh !  the  joy  of  the  little  ones,  flitting  from  hands 

that  led  them, 

Greeting  each  startled  bird  and  every  flower  of  the  way 
side 
With  ripples  of  happy  laughter,  enhancing  the  song  of 

gladness. 
On  they  come,  their  hearts  thrilled  high  with  a  fond 

expectation,  — 

Visions  of  happy  rest  after  long  years  of  service, 
Visions  of  rose-bowered  cots   in  a  land  of  perpetual 

summer, 
Olives  and  figs  and  grapes  in  gardens  easily  nurtured ; 


LOS  ANGELES.  131 

For  their  days  of  toil  were  over,  and  rest  was  their 

utmost  longing, — 
Rest,  and  the  grateful  worship  of  Mary,  Queen  of  the 

Angels. 

Thus  the  pioneers  came  into  Los  Angeles  valley; 
Hands  clasped  hands  in  joy  where  now  is  the  shaded 

Plaza, 
And  while  with  ringing  voices  they  chanted  the  loud 

Te  Deum 
And  christened  with  musical  name  the  home  of  their 

hope  and  longing, 
San  Bernardino  looked  down  from  his  kingly  throne  in 

the  distance, 

And   the   Sierra   Madre  hills,  with  bare,  brown   fore 
heads, 
Stood  in  the  breathless  sunshine  and  Benedicite  echoed. 


0  city  of  Los  Angeles  ! 

Thy  days  go  on, — the  days  of  peace; 

And  wide  along  the  fertile  mead, 
Each  in  its  garden  Paradise, 

1  see  the  Spanish  dwellings  rise, 

With  earthen  wall  and  roof  of  reed. 


132  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

From  every  cottage  sounds  afar, 
At  setting  of  the  morning  star, 

The  sunrise  song.     A  single  voice 
The  strain  begins ;   some  aged  dame, 
Long  waking,  sees  the  brightening  flame, 

And  gives  the  signal  to  rejoice. 

The  old,  the  young  take  up  the  strain, 
Till  over  all  the  dewy  plain 

The  hymn  to  the  Madonna  swells ; 
The  priests  glide  noiseless  o'er  the  sward, 
And  "  Hail !  O  Mother  of  the  Lord  !  " 

Clang  out  the  shrill,  exultant  bells. 

But  this  has  ceased  to  be,  and  now, 
Queen  city,  lift  thy  dreaming  brow, 

Look  onward,  outward  into  time ! 
The  sunrise  song  is  of  the  past,  — 
What  mightier  music  shall  at  last 

Be  worthy  of  thy  peerless  clime  ? 

I  see  thee  like  a  vast  white  rose 
Expand,  until  the  desert  glows 

A  tawny  captive  at  thy  feet ! 
I  see  thy  sunburnt  mountains  shine 
With  palaces,  and  at  thy  shrine 

Of  Summer  all  the  nations  meet. 


LOS  ANGELES. 

Smile  on  amid  thy  orange-trees, 
O  city  of  Los  Angeles ! 

Yet  in  thy  coming  hour  of  prime 
Keep  thou  thy  ancient  legends  dear, 
And  through  all  loftier  paeans  hear 

The  echo  of  the  Mission  chime  ! 


133 


WINTER  ROSES. 


"DENEATH  an  opalescent  sky, 
*-*     A  brilliant,  boundless  canopy, 
I  walk  the  level  street 
With  lingering,  aimless  feet; 


For  now  a  garden  tempts  me  on, 
With  heliotrope  and  ivy  grown ; 

Now  from  a  sunny  wall 

Resplendent  lilies  call ; 

Yonder  a  palm  whose  lofty  grace 
Breathes  majesty  of  ancient  race,  • 

I  hasten  on  to  see 

The  Old  World's  royal  tree. 


WINTER  ROSES.  135 

And  in  the  luminous  atmosphere 
The  velvet  hills  look  warm  and  near ; 

Their  peaks  of  green  and  brown 

The  garden-city  crown. 

Still  on,  regardless  of  the  way, 
Till  under  cypress-boughs  I  stray 

And  find  a  green  retreat, 

With  banks  of  roses  sweet 


How  proud  and  beautiful  they  stand, 
Insignia  of  the  summer-land, 

The  trophies  she  has  won 

From  the  adoring  sun ! 

Wet  by  the  fountain's  showery  dews 
Each  blossom  glows  with  peerless  hues 

Here  the  white  rose  lifts  up 

Her  pearly,  humid  cup ; 

And  here  are  creamy  buds  that  hold 
An  inner  wealth  of  orient  gold, 

And  the  vermilion-dyed, 

Superb  in  flowery  pride. 


136  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

And  see !  pink-petalled  like  the  morn, 
The  fairest  rose  of  blossoms  born 

Unfurls  from  mossy  green 

Her  orb  of  silken  sheen. 

Oh,  this  indeed  is  fairy  ground ! 
Can  dearer  loveliness  be  found 

Than  summer  roses  set 

In  winter's  coronet? 

Ah,  yes  !  let  all  this  rich  perfume, 
This  opulence  of  tropic  bloom 

Vanish,  and  give  me  back 

One  gladness  that  I  lack,  — 

The  eyes  where  love's  blue  violet  blows, 
The  cheeks  that  flush  with  love's  own  rose ! 

My  darling's  smile  would  be 

All  summer-land  to  me. 


MOUNT   HAMILTON. 

WATCH-TOWER  of  the  Pacific  !     As  the  mist 
And  foam  of  daybreak  down  the  valley  glide, 
Or  surging  high  in  waves  of  amethyst 

Flow  back  before  the  day's  incoming  tide, 
Serene  thou  standest  in  the  morning  red, 
Greeting  the  sunrise  with  uncovered  head. 

As  roll  the  mists  away,  where  now  a  sea 

Of  vapor  tossed,  in  many  a  rock-heaved  crest 

The  billowy  mountains  lie.     Thou  seem'st  to  be 
A  light-house,  lifted  from  some  ocean's  breast, — 

An  ocean  motionless  and  dumb  and  deep, 

Smitten,  in  some  dead  past,  with  endless  sleep. 

Beyond  these  wave-like  hills,  in  dreamy  calm 
The  vale  of  summer  lies.     A  rich  expanse 

Of  orchard,  vineyard,  gardens  green  with  palm 
And  flushed  with  roses,  meet  the  eager  glance. 

There  life  is  warm  and  new ;  the  mission-bell 

Alone  repeats  a  century's  song  and  knell. 


138  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

The  white  Sierras  like  an  armed  band 

Guard  in  long  ranks  the  eastern  gate  of  day ; 

Northward  Diablo  from  his  fortress  grand 
Watches  the  golden  city  of  the  Bay ; 

Westward  a  single  dazzling  line  of  white 

Shows  where  the  blue  Pacific  meets  the  sight. 

But  not  for  this  shall  wise  men  from  the  East 
Ascend  the  winding  path  to  Hamilton ; 

Fair  as  the  view  on  which  their  eyes  may  feast, 
Sublimer  scenes  unfold  at  set  of  sun. 

Earth  yields  her  beauty  to  the  morning  light, 

But  heaven  itself  is  opened  to  the  night. 

In  hushed  expectancy  a  noble  guard 

Of  mountains  fitly  named  attendant  waits ; 

Kepler,  who  heeded  not  the  world's  reward, 

Gazing,  entranced,  through  wisdom's  fairer  gates, 

Copernicus,  who  seized  heaven's  outer  key, 

Sad  Galileo,  ancient  Ptolemy,  — 

These  and  their  kindred  searchers  of  the  sky 
Wait  the  new  revelations.  Unto  them 

Was  given  the  scorn  and  scourge  of  bigotry ; 
Not  then  as  now  the  ready  diadem 

Of  the  world's  praise  and  recompense  to  each 

Interpreter  of  the  celestial  speech. 


MOUNT  HAMILTON.  139 

To  the  keen  watchers  on  this  mountain  height 
God's  writing  on  the  skies  shall  be  unrolled ; 

Star  after  star  with  lips  of  fire  shall  speak 
The  secrets  hid  in  hieroglyphs  of  gold ; 

The  Moon  shall  draw  aside  her  silver  veil, 

And  even  the  Sun  with  angry  wonder  pale. 

Oh,  who  can  tell  how  soon  the  hour  will  be, 
When  some  large  planet,  drifting  full  in  sight, 

Shall  send  response  across  the  ether  sea 

To  lightning-signal  from  this  glorious  height,  — 

When  world  to  world  shall  answer  from  afar, 

And  life  to  come  be  promised  by  a  star? 

Calm  be  his  rest  who  gave  this  lofty  dome, 
Asking  a  grave  beneath  its  corner-stone,  — 

A  mausoleum  which  in  time  to  come 
Shall  be  at  once  an  altar  and  a  throne. 

For  Science  here  as  king,  and  Truth  as  priest, 

Shall  bid  the  world  to  a  perpetual  feast. 


VESPERS  IN  SAN  JUAN. 

RING,  bell  from  Spain,  high  in  the  mission  tower, 
Ring  out  the  sunset  hour ! 
After  the  dry,  brown  day  of  dust  and  heat, 
Thy  even-song  is  sweet. 

The  languid  village  hears  the  tuneful  peal, 

And  black-eyed  women  steal 
Forth  from  their  low-walled  dwellings,  one  by  one, 

Glad  that  the  day  is  done. 

Across  the  plaza  come  the  sunburnt  men, 

At  home  from  toil  again ; 
And  beautiful,  dark  children  run  to  play 

Along  the  cypress  way. 

With  scent  of  ocean  comes  the  evening  gale 

Down  San  Benito's  vale ; 
Through  purpling  vines  and  olives  rustling  low 

Its  spicy  footsteps  go. 


VESPERS  IN  SAN  JUAN.  141 

Around  the  church,  through  the  long  colonnade, 

Crumbling  with  age  and  shade, 
Through  the  choir  window,  open  to  the  night, 

Flutters  the  restless  sprite, 

Nor  stays  till  it  has  found  beyond  the  nave 

An  altar-guarded  grave, 
And  to  the  dead  priest,  waiting  for  the  light, 

Whispered  a  hushed  "  good-night !  " 

Ring,  bell  from  Spain,  high  in  the  mission  tower, 

Ring  for  the  vesper  hour ! 
Beyond  the  village,  far  along  the  plain, 

Bear  on  the  melting  strain. 


The  shepherd  strolling  listless  and  alone 

Hears  the  familiar  tone, 
And  all  unnoticed  up  the  brown  hill  creep 

His  cloud-like  flock  of  sheep. 

For  now  he  seems  to  see  Juanita's  face, 

Fair  through  its  veil  of  lace ; 
Softly  she  glides  within  the  mission  door, 

Kneels  on  the  earthen  floor, 


142  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

And  while  the  altar  candles  faintly  glow, 

And  music  ripples  low, 
She  clasps  her  rosary  in  the  stillness  dim 

And  breathes  a  prayer  for  him ! 

Oh  what  heeds  he,  drunk  with  the  sunset  balm 

Wafted  from  vine  and  palm, 
That  hands  of  holy  zeal  and  hearts  of  prayer 

First  made  this  valley  fair? 

And  what  to  him  that  in  the  altar's  shade 

Forever  silent  laid, 
Sleeps  he  who  first  rung  out  that  vesper  bell 

And  loved  its  music  well? 

He  only  sees  the  future's  beaming  cup 

To  his  warm  lips  held  up,  — 
Juanita,  and  the  cot  that  is  to  be 

Beneath  his  own  fig-tree  ! 

Ring,  bell  from  Spain !    From  the  dark  mission  tower 

Fast  fades  the  sunset  hour. 
Sleep  on,  O  priest,  though  bells  peal  high  with  joy ! 

Be  happy,  shepherd  boy ! 


QtgdaMiWXfMi^^ 


<S»v^K3K5^^3x3^^ 


AD  ASTRA. 

'ARK !  to  the  Voice  which  cries 
To  the  valiant  and  the  young, 
There  is  a  measure  sweeter  far 
Than  any  the  Past  has  sung. 


H 


There  is  a  deathless  joy 
For  the  true  and  loyal  heart, 
There  are  deeds  no  hero  yet  hath  dared ; 
Gird  thy  sword  on  and  depart ! 

Out  of  these  cloister  days 
Into  the  wide  world  go ; 
Out  of  the  gray  night  of  the  Past, 
Enter  the  sunrise  glow ! 


144  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

There  is  a  language  of  fire 
To  fall  on  lips  that  are  dumb, 
And  to  him  who  is  nearest  the  inner  shrine 
Shall  the  blissful  utterance  come. 


Fruit  of  ambrosia  grows 
On  the  mountain's  sunward  side ; 
But  only  for  him  who  with  feasts  of  earth 
Is  still  unsatisfied. 

There  is  a  path  which  leads 
Through  the  lowly  and  the  real 
To  highlands  beautiful  and  far,  — 
The  soul's  supreme  ideal. 

Those  heights  are  only  won 
By  the  strongest  of  the  strong; 
Follow  that  path  and  make  thine  own 
Banner  and  crown  and  song. 


A  ROSE  OF  JERICHO. 


"  "TT /"HY  do  you  take  my  garden  rose, 

*  *       Still  fresh  and  glowing,  from  the  vase, 
And  give  a  dry  and  withered  stalk 
My  favorite's  dewy  place  ?  " 


"  Lady,"  he  said,  "  there  came  a  day 
When  far  across  the  burning  plain 

Slow  crept,  as  hour  by  hour  went  by, 
A  winding  camel-train. 

"  And  none  in  all  that  wandering  band 
Who  sought  with  me  the  Orient's  shrine, 

Concealed  beneath  the  pilgrim's  garb 
So  sad  a  heart  as  mine. 

10 


146  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

"  But  while  with  mournful  thoughts  I  mused, 
Light  blown,  as  if  from  fairy  bower, 

Came  fluttering  o'er  the  yellow  sand 
To  me  this  magic  flower. 


"  I  knew  its  folded  petals  hid 

The  breath  and  bloom  of  other  days, 
And  that  some  happier  hour  might  give 

Its  beauty  to  my  gaze. 

"  Through  all  the  paths  of  Palestine, 
And  wide  across  the  stormy  sea, 

My  cherished  rose  of  Jericho 
I  brought  to  home  and  thee. 

"  And  now  the  secret  of  my  soul 
I  to  the  wizard  rose  have  told, 

And  if  to-morrow's  light  shall  see 
Its  dusty  scroll  unrolled, 

"  If  life  and  bloom  and  odor  come 
Again  as  from  a  grave  set  free, 

The  rose  of  Jericho  will  tell 
That  secret  wish  to  thee  !  " 


A  ROSE  OF  JERICHO.  147 

The  morning  beams ;  the  lady  steps 

Expectant  to  her  garden  bower ; 
Behold  !  the  withered  stem  upholds 

A  rare,  mysterious  flower ! 


A  subtle  odor  steals  abroad ; 

The  petals  gleam  with  golden  hue ; 
It  is  as  if  the  wanderer's  heart 

Had  opened  to  her  view. 

A  step  draws  near ;  there  is  no  need 
For  words  to  tell  what  roses  know ; 

To  utter  love's  own  speech  has  flowered 
The  rose  of  Jericho. 


THE  KINGDOM   OF  THE   CHILD. 


of  the  common  daylight  of  the  world 
I  wandered  forth  into  a  golden  dawn, 
A  buoyant  and  a  brilliant  atmosphere, 
In  which  all  language  had  a  sweeter  sound, 
All  faces  shone,  and  salutations  glad, 
Of  love  and  cheer,  flew  fast  from  lip  to  lip. 
Then  as  the  light  grew  strong  upon  the  heights, 
Bell  answered  bell  with  jubilant  refrain, 
Until  the  hills  the  flying  echoes  caught 
And  wafted  upward  even  to  heaven  itself. 
And  then  there  was  a  silence  and  great  peace, 
While  in  the  air  around  me  and  above 
A  whisper  rose  that  grew  into  a  song,  — 
"  Enter  the  happy  kingdom  of  the  Child  !  " 

Oh  then  a  miracle  befell  my  sight  ! 
With  eyes  no  longer  holden  I  beheld 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  THE   CHILD,  149 

A  realm  immeasurable,  a  golden  zone 

That  like  a  ring  of  flame  shone  round  the  world. 

And  everywhere  the  joy  was  in  the  air, 

Wreaths  bloomed  in  every  window,  and  so  sweet 

The  incense  rose  from  every  heart  and  home, 

It  seemed  a  bright  new  world  within  the  old. 

And  still  the  burden  of  a  song  went  on, 

Too  silver-sweet  for  any  human  voice,  — 

"  This  day  began  the  kingdom  of  the  Child !  " 

"  Oh,  who,"  I  cried,  "  is  lord  of  this  fair  realm  ? 
Why  do  all  hearts  leap  up  with  victor's  joy? 
I  see  no  lofty  forts,  no  steel-clad  ranks, 
Nor  signs  of  martial  conquest.     Can  he  be 
A  warrior  and  a  king  of  high  renown 
Whose  wide  dominions  thus  unguarded  lie?" 
The  answer  came :  "  By  mightier  force  than  arms 
Our  monarch  has  his  royal  honor  proved. 
His  truth  is  keener  than  a  thousand  swords; 
His  purity  so  dazzling  that  the  hosts 
Of  unclean  error  flee  before  the  sight, 
And  in  the  fervid  summer  of  his  love 
The  superstitions  of  the  elder  world 
Like  vapors  of  the  sunrise  disappear. 
Look  now  upon  the  train  of  vanquished  kings 
Who  bow  before  the  sceptre  of  the  Child  !  " 


I5O  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

Then  down  the  borders  of  this  shining  land 

There  passed  a  gloomy  train,  and  by  their  front 

Majestic,  awful  even  in  their  fall, 

I  knew  them  not  as  warriors  but  as  gods,  — 

Osiris,  dear  to  Egypt's  ancient  shrines, 

And  Isis  the  world-mother  at  his  side, 

Whose  single  tear  renewed  the  wasted  Nile. 

They  too,  the  bright  Olympian  deities, 

With  echoes  of  remembered  music  still 

Upon  their  lips,  regretfully  passed  by; 

And  the  stern  monarchs  of  the  icy  North,  — 

Odin,  a  wanderer  from  the  fallen  throne 

Of  old  Valhalla,  and  the  hoary  Thor, 

No  longer  glorying  in  his  strong  right  hand. 

And  as  they  passed,  the  wilderness  gave  up 

Its  tawny  gods,  the  spirits  of  the  storms, 

The  mountains  and  the  precipices  wild. 

And  all  walked  heavily  with  bended  head, 

Save  only  Isis,  in  whose  mourning  eyes 

I  saw  a  wistful  yearning  for  the  Child. 


As  these  strange  shadows  of  the  fallen  faiths 
Slowly  departed,  over  all  the  sky 
A  soft,  serene  illumination  grew, 
A  rosy  and  ineffable  morning  light ; 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  THE  CHILD.  15 

And  forth  from  cot  and  bower  and  palace  came 

Myriads  of  little  children,  bounding  forth 

With  lilies-of-the-valley  in  their  hands, 

And  fragrant  boughs  of  forest  evergreen. 

These  went  before,  and  with  them  followed  on 

An  army  with  white  banners  borne  aloft, 

On  which  in  shining  letters  was  inscribed 

The  legend  beautiful,  "  Good-will  to  men." 

"  These  are  his  guards  and  warriors,"  said  the  voice ; 

"  See  how  the  wayside  blooms  beneath  their  feet." 

Then  I,  in  haste  of  sudden  ecstasy, 

Said  to  the  viewless  spirit  at  my  side, 

"  If  eyes  can  bear  such  splendor,  let  me  look 

Upon  the  face  of  him  you  call  the  Child !  " 


Then  like  a  cloud  the  pageant  disappeared, 
And  a  pale  orient  landscape  was  unveiled,  — 
Wide  plains  in  moonlight  splendor,  olive-boughs 
Rocking  beneath  the  nests  of  wakeful  birds, 
And,  lighted  by  one  radiant  morning  star, 
The  straw-thatched  stable  of  a  humble  inn. 
There  in  a  manger,  warm  with  breath  of  kine, 
Behold  !  the  mystery  of  all  mysteries, 
The  joy  in  sorrow  and  the  light  in  gloom, 
Heaven  in  earth's  lowliness,  God  in  the  Child  ! 


152 


UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 


No  crown  he  wore,  but  round  his  peaceful  brow 

An  aureole  shone,  from  whence  unnumbered  rays 

Floated  away  to  crown  less  worthy  heads. 

His  hand  no  sceptre  clasped,  but  fast  and  far 

The  beams  of  morning  as  his  heralds  rode 

To  bear  the  Christmas  gladness  to  the  world ; 

And  fast  and  far  his  dearer  angels  sped, 

Blessing  the  little  children  and  the  poor 

With  the  best  utterance  of  his  perfect  love. 

And  sorrow  heard,  and  grieving  lips  were  still, 

And  evil  hid  itself  and  was  afraid. 

Oh,  then  with  heart  at  rest  I  heard  again 

The  voice  that  swelled  and  grew  into  a  song,  — 

"  This  day,  till  time  shall  end,  from  shore  to  shore 

Shall  come  the  blessed  kingdom  of  the  Child !  " 


THE  ANGELUS. 


ING  soft  across  the  dying  day, 

Angelas! 
Across  the  amber-tinted  bay, 
The  meadow  flushed  with  sunset  ray, 
Ring  out  and  float  and  melt  away, 

Angelus. 

The  day  of  toil  seems  long  ago, 

Angelus ! 

While  through  the  deepening  vesper  glow, 
Far  up  where  holy  lilies  blow, 
Thy  beckoning  bell-notes  rise  and  flow, 

Angelus. 

Through  dazzling  curtains  of  the  west, 

Angelus, 
We  see  a  shrine  in  roses  dressed, 


154  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

And  lifted  high,  in  vision  blest, 
Our  every  heart-throb  is  confessed, 
Angelas ! 

Oh,  has  an  angel  touched  the  bell, 

Angelus? 

For  now  upon  its  parting  swell 
All  sorrow  seems  to  sing  Farewell ; 
There  falls  a  peace  no  words  can  tell, 

Angelus ! 


THE  PALACE  BUILDER. 

JULIAN,  a  youth  of  fortune  and  of  birth, 
Whose  hands  the  Fates  had  filled 
With  choicest  gifts  of  earth, 
And  all  his  wishes  royally  fulfilled, 
Lived  for  the  Beautiful  alone ;  he  gave 
To  Art  his  days  as  worshipper  and  slave. 
For  this  in  wild  and  woodland  paths  whate'er 
In  Nature's  realm  was  delicate  and  rare 
With  sensitive  eye  he  sought,  and  every  hue 
Of  billowy  mead  or  mountain  forest  knew; 
Then  with  swift  touches  on  the  canvas  laid 
Warm  waves  of  light  or  cooler  depths  of  shade. 
Gems  too  of  poesy  he  tireless  sought, 
And  fed  upon  their  sweetness  in  his  thought. 
Thus  all  his  days  in  solitude  were  spent, 
With  what  his  wealth  and  taste  had  given,  content. 


156  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

Not  even  the  pride  of  Art  he  worthy  deemed 

Of  wider  effort;  yet  he  once  had  dreamed, 

In  early  fantasies, 

Of  building  a  vast  palace.     Grand  and  fair 

He  dreamed  its  golden  towers  should  pierce  the  skies ; 

Its  gardens  should  be  rich  beyond  compare ; 

And  in  a  marble  court,  enshrined  in  flowers, 

Music  perpetual  should  entrance  the  hours. 

One  day  he  sat  beneath  his  linden-trees, 
Musing  in  thoughtful  ease ; 
A  rivulet  tinkled  softly  at  his  feet, 
And  the  birds,  fearless  of  his  well-known  face, 
Poised  on  the  branches  with  alluring  grace, 
Fluttered,  but  sang  not  in  the  noonday  heat. 
While  lost  in  pleasing  reverie,  suddenly 
One  stood  beside  him  with  a  brow  of  flame, 
Looked  on  him  steadfastly  and  spoke  his  name. 
He,  conscious  that  a  being  from  on  high 
Had  spoken,  could  but  falter,  "  Here  am  I !  " 
"Where  is  the  palace  that  thy  heart  decreed?  " 
The  angel  said.     "  Of  beauty  thou  indeed 
Hast  garnered  richly,  yet  long  years  have  given 
Superior  boons  for  which  thou  hast  not  striven. 
Now  let  thy  life's  achievement  be  revealed 
Unto  thine  eyes  unsealed." 


THE  PALACE  BUILDER.  157 

Then  waved  the  branches  of  the  linden-trees 

As  if  swept  strongly  by  a  sudden  breeze, 

And  vanished ;   and  a  garden  met  his  eyes, 

Dazzling  his  senses  with  its  rich  surprise. 

Awhile  he  wandered  blithely  up  and  down 

The  rosy  terraces,  but  weary  grown 

He  looked  in  vain  for  any  place  of  rest. 

Flowers,  fountains,  bright  cascades  and  bowery  trees, 

Beautiful  vines  and  verdure,  —  only  these. 

The  angel  heard  unspoken  his  request 

And  stood  beside  him.    "  Wouldst  thou  know?  "  he  said, 

"  What  spell  would  bid  enduring  walls  arise? 

Behold  !  the  indolent  pleasure  thou  dost  prize 

Can  but  a  momentary  fragrance  shed ; 

Nobler  the  deeds,  with  purer  purpose  wrought, 

Which  shall  uprear  the  palace  of  thy  thought." 

The  vision  changed.     While  Julian  startled  heard 

The  warning  voice,  a  sullen,  distant  roar, 

The  shout  of  the  invader  at  the  door 

Of  Fatherland,  with  instant  passion  stirred 

His  wakened  soul.     "  If  glory  will  upraise 

My  palace  towers,  then  shall  the  echoing  praise 

Of  thousands  greet  my  name  !  "    He  roused  a  band 

Of  loyal  followers ;  eagerly  he  sought 

The  field  where  deeds  of  fame  were  swiftest  wrought 


158  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

And  soonest  crowned.     The  bright  sword  in  his  hand 

With  eager  radiance  flashed.     To  win  a  name, 

To  wrest  the  plume  and  coronal  of  fame, 

So  burned  within  his  breast,  that  like  a  flame 

It  shone  upon  his  features,  and  led  on 

His  comrades  like  the  shout  of  battle  won. 


There  came  a  day 

Of  fearful  carnage.     Julian  wounded  lay 

Upon  the  field,  and  from  his  followers  far, 

Saw  night  shut  down.     Not  even  a  friendly  star 

Beheld  him  creeping  painfully  to  rest 

His  head  upon  a  soldier's  lifeless  breast. 

There  while  he  sighed  alone  he  saw  once  more 

The  Being  Wonderful,  and  as  before, 

With  face  that  shone  with  more  than  sunrise  flame, 

He  looked,  and  spoke  his  name. 

"  Julian  !     The  garden  of  thy  past  delight 
Now  holds  the  proud  walls  of  thy  warrior  life ; 
Look  upward  !  "   Then  in  rosy  waves  the  night 
Was  overflowed,  a  rolling  tide  of  light, 
And  where  had  seemed  but  now  the  field  of  strife 
Was  the  remembered  garden.     Oh  how  fair 
Glittered  the  palace  that  was  builded  there ! 


THE  PALACE  BUILDER.  159 

Then  as  before  through  all  the  place  he  sped, 
From  room  to  room,  and  up  with  flying  tread 
To  the  great  tower  from  which  a  banner  flung 
Broad  folds  of  crimson.     Suddenly  he  stayed 
His  eager  steps  and  listened.     Far  or  near 
No  sound  of  living  utterance  met  his  ear, 
Nor  love  nor  joy  in  grateful  accents  rung. 
Silence  was  over  all.     Chilled  and  dismayed 
He  turned  to  meet  his  guardian.     "  Not  for  this," 
He  cried,  "  have  I  foregone  my  early  bliss, 
And  given  my  life  to  win  a  lofty  name. 
In  this  mute  splendor  all  my  proud  hopes  fade,  — 
There  is  no  joy  nor  recompense  in  fame." 

Serene  the  angel  answered,  —  "  Yet  once  more 

Thou  must  go  forth  and  life's  last  lesson  prove. 

The  melody  of  living  flows  from  love. 

Though  thy  heart's  blood  thou  on  its  threshold  pour, 

Hollow  and  dumb  the  walls  of  Fame  shall  be, 

Nor  one  true  voice  of  comfort  answer  thee. 

But  hasten  now;  redeem  thy  selfish  past; 

To  God  and  fellow-man  be  true  at  last ! 

Be  camp  or  court  or  wilderness  thy  place, 

Thy  strength,  thy  genius  as  oblation  give 

For  the  uplifting  of  thy  age  and  race. 

God  and  thy  fellow-man  will  make  life  sweet  to  live !  " 


I6O  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

"  God  and  my  fellow-man  !  "     Aloud  he  spoke, 
And  with  the  words  in  deep  amazement  woke, 
For  lo  !  it  was  a  dream.     The  rivulet  played 
As  softly  on,  and  in  the  deepening  shade 
The  birds  he  knew  their  even-song  essayed. 
"  A  dream?  "  he  cried,  —  "a  vision  't  is  to  me  ! 
O  soul  of  mine,  no  longer  shalt  thou  be 
Defrauded  of  thy  rightful  royalty ! 
For  reverently  I  take 

The  message,  and  this  vow  responsive  make,  — 
The  palace  Heaven  has  shown  me  shall  be  mine 
Gardens  and  pillared  halls  and  singing  shrine, 
And  on  the  gateway  shall  this  legend  shine,  — 
For  love  of  man  and  faith  in  the  Divine  !  " 


PERSEPOLIS. 

HERE  is  the  royalty  of  ruin ;  nought 
Of  later  pomp  the  desert  stillness  mars ; 
Alone  these  columns  face  the  fiery  sun, 
Alone  they  watch  beneath  the  midnight  stars. 

Forests  have  sprung  to  life  in  colder  climes, 
Grown  stalwart,  nourished  many  a  savage  brood, 
Ripened  to  green  age,  fallen  to  decay, 
Since  this  gray  grove  of  marble  voiceless  stood. 

Not  voiceless  once,  when,  like  a  rainbow  woof 
Veiling  the  azure  of  the  Persian  sky, 
Curtains  of  crimson,  violet,  and  gold 
In  folds  of  priceless  texture  hung  on  high ! 
ii 


1 62  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

And  what  have  sun  and  shadow  left  to  us? 
What  glorious  picture  in  this  marble  frame, 
Ever,  as  soundless  centuries  roll  by, 
Gives  this  lone  mount  its  proudest,  dearest  fame  ? 

The  sculptured  legend  on  yon  polished  cliff 
Has  lost  its  meaning.     Persia,  gray  and  old, 
Upon  her  bed  of  roses  sleeps  away 
The  ages,  all  her  tales  of  triumph  told. 

But  here  Queen  Esther  stood ;  and  still  the  world, 
In  vision  rapt,  beholds  that  peerless  face, 
When,  with  the  smile  which  won  a  throne,  she  gave 
Joy  to  her  king  and  freedom  to  her  race. 


OUR  WITNESSES. 

"D  Y  the  immortals  who  attend  us  here 

-*-^    We  know  ourselves  immortal ;  all  our  way 

Is  guarded  night  and  day 

By  presences  from  a  diviner  sphere, 

Who  ever  hear  and  heed 

The  heart's  most  hidden  need, 

And  ready  whisper  their  eternal  cheer. 

Who  has  beheld  the  countenance  of  Hope? 

Who  knoweth  if  her  eyes 

Are  colored  like  the  skies? 

And  when  in  shadow-land  we  darkly  grope, 

Though  close  she  walks  beside  us,  who  has  seen 

Her  garment's  texture  or  her  sandals'  sheen? 

When  hath  the  rapt  ear  heard 

One  silver-spoken  word? 

Yet  were  the  world  forsaken  but  one  day 

By  Hope,  oh,  who  till  set  of  sun  could  stay? 


1 64  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

Who  hath  had  speech  with  Dreams  ? 

At  their  own  will  they  come 

When  weary  eyes  are  dull  and  lips  are  dumb, 

And  every  slumbering  sense  unconscious  seems ; 

They  open  with  a  magic  key 

The  spirit's  door,  and  set  the  prisoner  free. 

Oh,  then  with  what  winged  feet, 

Soundless  and  fleet, 

We  flit  outside  the  boundaries  of  the  night ! 

How  into  past  and  future  we  take  flight, 

And  even  pass  the  threshold  still  and  white 

Where  they  who  loved  us  —  oh,  so  long  ago  !  — 

Look  in  our  eyes  and  bid  us  see  and  know ! 


By  many  names  we  call 

The  viewless  ones  who  hold  in  happy  thrall 

Our  clinging  natures.     Theirs  no  passing  breath ; 

They  reign  victorious  over  change  and  death, 

And  keep  the  old  world  young. 

Beauty,  that  in  the  fading  blooms  of  time 

Gives  hint  and  token  of  a  fairer  clime 

Than  ever  eye  hath  seen  or  voice  hath  sung ; 

Love,  in  all  depths  of  parting  and  of  pain, 

Uttering  the  promise,  We  shall  meet  again  ; 

And  Joy,  though  we  may  know  her  but  a  day, 


OUR    WITNESSES.  1 65 

Even  as  she  vanishes  looks  back  to  say, 
"  Hither  is  happiness,  —  oh,  come  away !  " 

Surely  immortals  wait 

Upon  immortals.     Not  in  vain  do  we 

Read  signals  of  a  grander  destiny, 

And  in  our  exile  pine  for  kingly  state. 

The  Seen  is  but  the  shadow;  the  Unseen 

Is  the  true  light,  and,  changeless  and  serene, 

Cheers  our  approach  to  that  mysterious  goal 

Called  death,  which  is  the  daybreak  of  the  soul. 


THE   ORIGIN   OF  BIRDS. 

Indians  of  the  Shasta  Mountains  tell 
•*-     A  legend  strange  and  beautiful.     They  say 
That  the  Great  Spirit  stepped  from  cloud  to  cloud, 
In  the  primeval  day, 

And  first  upon  the  dome  of  Shasta  stood, 

The  spotless  face  of  new-born  earth  to  see, 
And  everywhere  He  touched  the  land,  upsprang 
A  green,  luxuriant  tree. 

Pleased  with  the  sight,  the  splendor  of  His  smile 

Melted  the  snows  and  made  the  rivers  run, 
And  soon  the  branches  tossed  their  leafy  plumes 
And  blossomed  in  the  sun. 

Day  after  day  while  that  first  summer  shone 

He  watched  with  fresh  delight  the  growing  trees ; 
But  autumn  came,  and  fast  the  bright  leaves  fell, 
Swept  by  the  keener  breeze. 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  BIRDS.  1 67 

Yet  were  they  radiant  now,  in  every  hue 

Of  red  and  gold  which  could  with  sunset  vie ; 
Looking  on  them  He  loved  them,  —  they  were  still 
Too  beautiful  to  die ! 

Thrilled  by  His  quickening  gaze,  each  leaf  renewed 

Its  life,  and  floated  buoyantly  along ; 
Its  beauty  put  forth  wings,  and  as  it  soared 
Its  gladness  grew  to  song. 

Thus  from  the  red-stained  oak  the  robin  came, 
The  cardinal-bird  the  maple's  splendors  bore, 
The  yellow-bird  the  willow's  faded  gold 
In  living  plumage  wore. 

Even  the  pale-brown  leaves  the  pageant  joined, 

Sparrow  and  lark  awakened  to  rejoice, 
And  though  they  were  less  fair,  He  gave  to  them 
The  more  melodious  voice. 

Since  then  the  birds  close  kinship  with  the  trees 

Have  ever  kept,  and  build  the  yearly  nest 
Beneath  the  fragrant  shelter  of  the  boughs, 
As  on  a  mother's  breast. 


THE   PEPPER-TREE. 

SIT  with  me,  love,  beneath  the  pepper-tree,  — 
The  mid-day  air  is  mild, 
And  sapphire  skies  smile  bright  response  to  thee, 

My  blue-eyed  summer  child  ! 
Just  a  soft  whisper  from  the  distant  bay 
Flutters  the  fern-like  leaves  that  o'er  us  sway. 

The  tree  is  old.     A  strange  and  silent  life 

Its  growing  years  have  known ; 
No  brook  has  been  its  playmate,  no  fair  lake 

Its  pictured  beauty  shown ; 
No  river,  lingering  with  a  lover's  song, 
Woke  the  young  boughs  and  lightly  passed  along. 


THE  PEPPER-TREE.  169 

It  never  saw  the  glory  of  the  leaves 

In  Autumn's  royal  train  : 
Itself  unfading,  in  perpetual  green 

It  watched  the  rank,  wild  plain, 
And  shadeless,  sunburnt  hills,  whose  last  wild  flower 
Withered  before  the  summer's  ripening  hour. 

Perhaps,  while  chimed  afar  the  mission  bell, 

Here  Spanish  lovers  strolled, 
And  as  they  stood  beneath  the  listening  tree, 

The  sunset's  fairy  gold 

Rained  through  its  branches,  till  their  lifted  eyes 
In  vision  saw  the  bloom  of  Paradise. 

* . 

Some  brother  in  the  grave  Franciscan  garb, 

Crossing  the  lonely  plain, 
Murmured  a  blessing  on  these  cooling  boughs 

Which  whispered  "  Peace  "  again. 
Oh,  did  his  benediction  guard  the  tree, 
That  it  has  lived  to  shelter  thee  and  me  ? 

Now,  happy  tree !  it  dwells  no  more  alone ; 

Our  garden's  crown  and  pride, 
It  sees  a  crowd  of  fresh  young  foliage  climb 

Luxuriant  at  its  side ; 

And  humming-bird  and  gold-winged  butterfly 
Drain  the  sweet  flowers  that  in  its  shadow  lie. 


1 70  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

Yonder  the  palm-tree  lifts  it  feathered  plume, 

The  cypress  builds  its  bower, 
The  oleander,  tall  and  proud,  uplifts 

Its  coronal  of  flower, 

And  the  dark,  damask  rose  thou  lovest  best, 
Clings  nearest  to  the  pepper's  patriarch  breast. 

Sit  with  me,  then,  within  the  fragrant  shade, 

My  blue-eyed  summer  child ; 
Forget  that  far  beyond  the  rolling  hills 

A  dearer  home  hath  smiled. 

While  sun  and  bloom  their  strong  wine  pour  for  thee, 
My  world  is  here,  beneath  the  pepper-tree. 


CRADLE-LIFE. 

TS  not  this  world  the  cradle  of  the  soul, 
•*•     In  which  we  rock,  through  restless  infancy, 
To  music  of  the  spheres?     At  times  we  weep, 
And  long  for  baubles  just  beyond  our  reach, 
Restrained  from  our  desires,  yet  comforted 
By  the  great  Love  which  holds  us.     We  rejoice 
In  pleasant  sounds  mysterious  to  the  sense, 
Not  yet  awake  to  Mother  Nature's  speech ; 
We  love  the  blue,  sun-painted  draperies 
About  us,  and  the  corridors  of  green, 
And  view  with  still  delight  the  beautiful 
Glad  faces  of  the  stars  which  smile  above. 
Comforted,  chided,  nourished,  we  abide, 
And  know  not  whence  we  come  to  this  new  life, 
Nor  whither  we  shall  go.     But  in  the  grave 
We  lay  aside  our  robes  of  infancy ; 
Then  do  we  grow  in  stature,  we  are  strong, 
We  walk  abroad,  and  live  the  life  we  dreamed. 


HALCYON   DAYS. 

TO  all  true  lives  there  comes  a  time 
When  doubt  and  care  and  tumult  cease, 
And  wide  across  the  spirit  rolls 
A  wave  of  peace ; 

When  rocked  upon  the  tranquil  tide, 
We  look  with  wondering  glances  back, 
For  lo  !  where  darkness  was,  God's  smile 
Illumes  our  track. 


We  see  the  sorrows  of  the  past 
As  through  a  luminous  halo  beam, 
The  darkest  griefs  that  we  have  known, 
Transfigured  seem. 


HALCYON  DA  YS. 

From  the  black  gulf  that  tossed  us  long, 
The  perfect  pearl  of  peace  is  cast, 
On  the  bleak  skies  the  rose  of  joy 
Unfurls  at  last. 


And  singing  thoughts,  like  Halcyon  birds, 
Drift  lightly  o'er  the  waveless  calm, 
Near  and  more  near  the  summer  shore, 
The  isles  of  balm. 

Oh,  clouds  again  this  light  may  veil, 
Yet  can  no  more  our  pathway  dim  ; 
God's  smile  once  seen,  we  press  straight  on 
To  Heaven  and  Him. 


MOUNTAIN  FLOWERS. 

'HpHESE  wild  flowers  from  the  hills  have  filled  my 

-*-  room 

With  strange  magnificence.     Amid  their  bloom, 

An  unfamiliar  guest, 
I  stand  amazed ;   such  high,  imperial  air, 
Such  pomp  of  color  these  bright  blossoms  wear,  — 
Proud  strangers  of  the  West ! 


How  beautiful  they  are  !     Celestial  blue 

The  harebells  lift  their  delicate  sprays  to  view, 

And  warm  with  golden  rays 
The  poppies  hold  their  satin  splendors  up, 
And  the  wild  daisy  in  its  gilded  cup 

A  gem  of  dew  displays. 


MOUNTAIN  FLOWERS. 

These  lilies,  white,  but  dashed  with  crimson  fires, 
Are  daughters  of  the  sun.     These  purple  spires  ' 

Grew  on  a  crag  so  high, 
The  robes  of  morning  and  of  evening  swept 
Their  opening  buds,  and  their  ripe  petals  kept 

The  kisses  of  the  sky. 

And  yet,  as  one  entranced  may  stand  alone 
In  some  great  festival  where  all  unknown 

A  thousand  faces  glow, 
And  suddenly  from  far,  forgotten  days 
Some  shadow-face,  with  pleading,  tender  gaze, 

Revives  the  Long  Ago, 

So  as  I  gaze  upon  these  haughty  flowers 
Of  the  Sierras,  dear  New  England  bowers 

Breathe  back  their  lost  perfume ; 
I  see  the  mayflower  with  its  flush  of  pink,' 
And  sweeter  still  upon  the  river's  brink 

My  own  wild  roses  bloom. 


THE   SISTINE   MADONNA. 


I. 


BEHOLD,  as  in  vision  sublime, 
The  flower  of  the  fulness  of  time  ! 
The  type  of  all  loveliness  human, 
The  one  ever-glorified  woman  ! 

An  angel,  a  goddess  she  seems, 
As  borne  on  the  violet  air, 
Self-poised  and  transcendently  fair, 
A  high,  starry  presence  she  beams. 

Yet  those  beautiful,  sibylline  eyes 
Have  wept  as  no  goddess  could  weep ; 
And  angels  have  leaned  from  the  skies 
To  look  on  her  blessedness  deep, 

When  on  sorrow's  eternal  release, 

Fell  the  sunlight  of  infinite  peace. 


THE  SISTINE  MADONNA.  177 

Though  ever  would  Raphael  paint 

The  Virgin,  the  Mother,  the  Saint, 

Though  his  pencil  was  dipped  in  the  fire 

Of  a  ceaseless,  adoring  desire, 

Once  only  the  true  Mary  came ! 

O  woman  majestic  and  mild, 

Our  Lady  of  holiest  fame  ! 

Let  me  muse  on  thy  beauty,  and  be 

Uplifted,  transported  with  thee, 

In  the  smile  of  the  long-promised  Child ! 


II. 

O  poet-mother !  first  to  sing 

Earth's  welcome  to  the  coming  King, 

A  thousand  lips,  since  thine,  have  striven 

To  catch  the  echoed  notes  of  heaven, 

But  thy  Magnificat  alone 

Rings  down  the  ages ;  still  unknown 

To  living  singer,  the  strong  fire, 

The  joy  superb,  the  pure  desire 

Which  rung  from  thy  exultant  lyre. 

The  Orient  skies  were  bright  afar 

With  beams  of  Bethlehem's  dawning  star, 

12 


178  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

And  Song  herself,  for  thy  sweet  sake, 
To  noblest  utterance  was  awake. 
The  long  lament  of  seer  and  priest, 
The  sigh  of  waiting  centuries  ceased, 
When  from  those  loving  lips  was  poured 
Of  victory's  song  the  first,  rich  chord,  — 
"  My  soul  doth  magnify  the  Lord  !  " 


III. 

How  beautiful  the  days 

While  He  is  all  her  own ! 
While  the  world  goes  its  stormy  ways 
To  Mother  and  to  Child  unknown. 
His  head  is  pillowed  on  her  breast, 
Her  song  at  evening  soothes  His  rest, 
And  ere  His  lips  to  language  move, 
His  soft  looks  utter  boundless  love. 
Ah  !  much  she  ponders ;   shadows  deep 
Across  her  vision  come  and  go. 
Must  these  sweet  eyes  yet  learn  to  weep? 
Must  Israel's  king  share  Israel's  woe? 

At  times  with  piercing  gaze  she  sees 
Fulfilled  the  Scriptures'  dark  decrees ; 


THE  SISTINE  MADONNA.  179 

The  wine-press  yields  its  scarlet  flood, 
The  cross  reveals  its  awful  sign, 
And  every  flower  of  Palestine 
Drops  fiery  dew  of  holy  blood. 
And  what  beyond  ?     O  mother-eyes  ! 
Ye  rend  the  secret  of  the  skies ! 
O  mother-love !  not  heaven  can  hide 
The  sword  which  shall  thy  heart  divide, 

Nor  veil  in  rayless  mystery 

The  beautiful,  the  boundless  sea 

Of  blessedness  that  is  to  be ! 

With  gentlest  touch,  with  murmured  word, 
The  Child  her  tenderer  mood  has  stirred. 
She  clasps  Him  close,  —  her  own  is  He, 
Hereafter  all  the  world's  to  be ; 
But  oh,  not  yet !     Upon  her  breast 
His  head  shall  softly,  surely  rest,  — 
Still  far  the  glory  or  the  woe 
Of  coming  years.     Enough  to  know 
The  Prince  of  Peace  to  earth  is  given, 
And  finds  her  love  His  childhood's  heaven. 


A  BURMESE   PARABLE. 

"\TTITH  look  of  woe  and  garments  rent, 

*  *      She  walked  as  one  whose  strength  is  spent, 
And  in  her  arms  a  burden  dread 
She  bore,  —  an  infant  cold  and  dead. 
Men  stood  aside  and  women  wept, 
As  through  the  gathering  throng  she  crept, 
And  fell  at  last,  with  covered  face, 
Before  the  Buddha's  seat  of  grace. 

With  startled  gaze  each  Brahmin  priest 
Drew  near ;   at  once  the  Master  ceased 
His  golden  words,  for  he  could  read 
The  suffering  spirit's  inmost  need, 
And  give  with  subtlest  skill  the  cure 
Which  best  that  spirit  could  endure. 
He  bade  her  speak.     She  faltered  wild, 
"  They  told  me  thou  couldst  heal  my  child  !  " 


A  BURMESE  PARABLE.  l8l 

"  It  may  be  so,  but  thou  must  bring 

To  me  this  simple  offering,  — 

Some  seeds  of  mustard  which  have  grown 

By  homes  where  death  was  never  known, 

Nor  tears  have  fallen  beside  the  grave 

Of  mother,  brother,  child,  or  slave. 

Go  to  the  happy  and  the  free, 

And  of  their  store  bring  thou  to  me." 

She  rose  in  haste,  and  all  that  day 
She  went  her  melancholy  way. 
No  door  was  shut,  for  pitying  eyes 
Her  quest  beheld  in  kind  surprise ; 
But  every  stranger  answering  said, 
"  We  too  have  looked  upon  the  dead,  — 
We  too  have  wept  beside  the  grave 
Of  mother,  brother,  child,  or  slave." 

At  set  of  sun  alone  she  stood 
Within  the  vine-entangled  wood, 
And  uttered  sadly,  "  I  perceive 
That  every  living  heart  must  grieve. 
Brief  happiness  had  made  me  blind 
To  common  griefs  of  humankind  ; 
My  eyes  are  open  now  to  see 
That  all  the  world  has  wept  with  me." 


I 82  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

Beneath  the  branches  sweet  and  wild 

She  made  a  cradle  for  her  child, 

And  watched  until  she  saw  afar 

The  village  lamps,  star  after  star, 

Gleam,  burn,  and  fade.     "  Our  lives,"  she  said, 

"  Like  lamps  of  night  will  soon  be  fled ; 

Sleep  soft,  my  child,  until  I  come 

To  share  thy  rest  and  find  thy  home." 


BEAUTIFUL  DREAMS. 

SHE  lay  unconscious  in  heavy  sleep 
While  her  life-tide  was  ebbing  slowly ; 
We  knew  she  would  pass  with  the  sinking  sun, 

As  we  watched  by  her  pillow  lowly. 
And  vainly  we  waited  the  farewell  word,  — 
One  whisper  only  the  silence  stirred,  — 
"  Beautiful  dreams  !  beautiful  dreams  !  " 

Again  we  listened,  —  she  slumbered  on ; 

Like  a  leaf  in  the  light  wind  shaken 
Her  breathing  fluttered,  her  pulse  beat  low, 

We  feared  she  would  never  waken. 
Again  she  lifted  her  lustrous  eyes, 
And  uttered  aloud  in  glad  surprise,  — 

"  Such  beautiful,  beautiful  dreams  !  " 


1 84  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

No  more.     On  the  wings  of  those  lovely  dreams 
She  was  gone,  and  the  day  was  ended ; 

As  we  folded  her  hands  to  their  last  repose, 
The  evening  shades  descended, 

And  the  stars  came  out  and  wrote  on  high 

In  golden  letters  the  mystery,  — 

"  Beautiful  dreams  !  beautiful  dreams  !  " 

Ah  !  no  mere  vision  of  other  days, 

Of  youth's  remembered  story, 
Illumed  her  fair  and  fading  face 

With  so  rapturous  a  glory. 
Shining  across  death's  coming  night, 
From  the  land  that  was  breaking  on  her  sight, 

Came  those  beautiful,  beautiful  dreams. 

White  hands  beckoned  across  the  flood, 
Sweet  lips  uttered,  "  Come  over !  " 

Eyes  looked  a  welcome  that  never  shone 
In  the  gaze  of  mortal  lover. 

Lingering,  listening,  drifting  away, 

She  could  only  smile  upon  us  and  say,  — 
"  Beautiful  dreams  !  beautiful  dreams !  " 


LOST. 

TWO  friends  to  my  youth  were  given, 
When  life  wore  the  bloom  of  May, 
And  with  ardent  lips  they  promised 
To  garland  my  autumn  day. 

But  one,  with  her  pale  hands  folded, 
And  white  flowers  on  her  breast, 

Sleeps  well,  and  her  children's  kisses 
Still  hallow  her  place  of  rest. 


The  other,  —  ah !  life  has  changes 
Whose  meaning  we  fail  to  see, 

And  she,  in  the  world  of  pleasure, 
Is  happy  —  away  from  me. 


1 86"  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

The  one  comes  often  at  midnight, 
And  under  the  dreamland  stars 

Her  face  is  aglow  with  a  beauty 
Which  no  earthly  shadow  mars. 


And  she  tells  me  over  and  over 
That  her  love  is  deathless  now, 

And  the  touch  of  her  kiss  electric, 
As  I  waken,  is  on  my  brow. 

From  the  other  a  white-winged  message, 

Tossed  off  in  an  idle  hour, 
Comes  now  and  then  to  stir  me 

With  the  old  love's  lingering  power. 

Oh,  say,  —  for  I  cannot  utter 

The  name  which  I  cherish  most,  — 
Of  the  two  who  have  loved  and  left  me, 

Which  shall  I  mourn  as  lost,  — 

\ 

The  friend  whom  long,  sweet  summers 
Have  blossomed  and  rained  above, 

But  who  still  surrounds  and  upholds  me 
In  the  spell  of  her  infinite  love ; 


LOST.  IS/ 

Or  the  living,  the  unforgotten, 

Who,  borne  on  the  sparkling,  bright 

World-tide  of  passion  and  pleasure 
Has  drifted  out  of  my  sight? 


O  love  in  the  starry  spaces, 
Thou  art  not  yet  lost  to  me ! 

O  friend  on  the  tide  of  fortune, 
I  sorrow  alone  for  thee ! 


EVEN-SONG. 

T^VEPART  in  peace,  fair  day ! 
*-J     Go  to  the  soundless  shore ; 
Thy  burden  and  thy  brief  delight 

Shall  come  to  us  no  more. 
As  sinks  thy  last  beam  in  the  west, 

We  sing  thee  into  rest. 

We  need  not  watch  nor  fear 
The  clouds  above  us  rolled ; 

One,  in  whose  tender  care  we  trust, 
Doth  every  moment  hold, 

And  of  our  morrows  none  shall  be 
Let  loose  from  destiny. 


EVEN-SONG.  189 

In  Him  we  work  or  rest, 

God  giveth  while  we  sleep ; 
And  in  full  time  our  inmost  right 

And  recompense  we  reap. 
At  last,  if  patient  we  abide, 

We  shall  be  satisfied. 


Then  while  the  darkness  falls 

Soft  as  a  folded  flower, 
Let  us  hold  closer  to  His  hand, 

And  lean  upon  His  power. 
By  winding  ways  and  steps  unknown 

We  come  unto  our  own. 


THE   ROSE  BY  THE  WAYSIDE. 

IT  is  told  in  an  Eastern  story 
That  when  Mary  took  her  flight 
With  the  Holy  Child  to  Egypt, 
Slow  journeying  on  by  night, 

Wherever  in  wild  or  desert 

They  paused  for  a  brief  hour's  rest, 
The  place  of  their  hasty  slumber 

With  a  springing  rose  was  blest. 

In  her  was  the  love  unspotted, 
And  the  life  of  the  world  in  Him ; 

What  wonder  a  power  supernal 
Went  out  on  the  night  air  dim. 


THE  ROSE  BY  THE    WAYSIDE. 

And  the  breeze  bent  low  to  bear  it, 
Earth  lifted  her  brooding  breast, 

And  the  flower  of  flowers  most  precious 
Embowered  that  sacred  rest. 

How  often  with  happy  meaning 
The  story  comes  back  to  me, 

When  some  trusting,  humble  pilgrim 
On  the  journey  of  life  I  see, 

Who,  walking  a  desert  pathway 
From  the  joyous  world  afar, 

Hears  ever  the  Christ-child's  whisper, 
Sees  ever  the  love-lit  star ! 

Who  with  word  of  cheer  unfailing, 

And  love's  perpetual  grace, 
Gives  a  beautiful  adorning 

To  the  solitary  place. 

Oh,  fresh  and  sweet  were  the  roses 
That  pillowed  Madonna's  head, 

But  they  blossom  to-day  wherever 
The  pure  and  the  faithful  tread. 


VICTORY. 

"\  71CTORY  blossoms  in  every  clime, 

*      A  tree  sublime, 
Of  colors  rare  as  the  rainbow  dyes 

In  midsummer  skies. 

For  the  soldier  it  tosses  a  crimson  plume, 
Of  smoke  and  of  battle  its  rank  perfume ; 

On  his  heart  in  the  carnage  dire 

It  burns  like  a  flower  of  fire. 

It  thrives  in  the  groves  of  solitude 

For  the  scholar's  mood, 
Purple  and  scentless,  a  part  of  the  shade, 

Yet  it  cannot  fade. 

For  the  poet  it  throbs  like  a  golden  star, 
As  bright  with  beams  and  alas !  as  far. 

And  he  waits  as  the  years  go  by 

The  bloom  of  eternity. 


VICTORY.  IO/3 

But  for  him  who  ever  in  deed  and  word 

Is  for  others  stirred, 
Who  gives  his  heart's  blood  with  sword  or  pen 

For  his  fellow-men, 
Only  for  him  does  this  blossom  show 
Fair  as  sunlight  and  white  as  snow. 

Life's  most  beautiful  dower, 

Victory's  perfect  flower ! 


"ALL'S  WELL." 

HAIL!  fellow-pilgrim,  wherefore  haste? 
The  night  is  falling,  dark  with  storm ; 
My  evening  bread  is  sweet  to  taste, 
The  glow  upon  my  hearth  is  warm. 
Long  is  thy  path  and  wild  and  lone,  — 
His  eyes  looked  deep  into  my  own, — 
"All's  well!" 

Thy  robe  is  rent  by  brier  and  thorn, 

Thine  eyes  have  known  the  pain  of  tears ; 
And  on  thy  patient  brow  are  worn 
Deep  furrows  that  are  not  of  years. 
"  My  staff  is  broken,  but  my  palm 
Still  keeps  the  morning's  fragrant  balm ; 
All  fs  well." 

Thou  art  forsaken  and  alone ; 

Thou  lookest  back  with  wistful  gaze. 
Some  dream  of  beauty,  still  unblown, 

Has  mocked  thee  all  these  weary  days. 


"ALL'S  WELL,n  1 95 

"  Heaven  took  the  flower  of  life,  to  give 
A  bloom  which  shall  forever  live. 
All 's  well !  " 

And  thou  art  wounded  !     From  thy  side 

The  life-drops  fall.     O  pilgrim,  stay ! 
Wait  for  the  ebbing  of  the  tide, 
And  for  the  breaking  of  the  day. 
"  Comrades  invisible  to  thee 
Beckon  and  call  and  signal  me 
All 's  well ! 

"  Follow  me  not,  nor  seek  to  hold 
My  spirit  from  its  true  repose ; 
The  shelter  of  that  flowery  fold 

Will  heal  all  wounds  of  friends  or  foes. 
I  go  from  dark  to  light,  from  strife 
To  perfect  peace,  from  death  to  life ! 
All 's  well !  " 

Yet  answer  once  before  we  part, 

Thy  voice  uplifts  and  makes  me  free,  — 
Whence  is  this  gladness  of  the  heart, 
This  undertone  of  victory? 
"  I  dimly  see ;   I  am  but  dust, 
But  through  all  darkness  I  can  trust ! 
All 's  well !  " 


IN  WHAT  SOIL  DOES   COURAGE   GROW? 

IN  what  soil  does  courage  grow? 
Where  the  sunbeams  warmest  shine? 
Where  the  flowers  of  fortune  twine 
And  her  scented  breezes  blow? 

On  the  bleak  and  rugged  height ', 
In  the  chill  and  starless  night. 
Courage  struggles  to  the  light. 

In  what  garden  blossoms  trust? 

Is  it  where  the  summer  dew 

Lights  up  every  dainty  hue, 
And  the  roses  never  rust? 

Not  till  rending  storms  sweep  by 
Does  the  spirit  make  reply 
To  the  Master's,  "  It  is  I!  " 


IN  WHAT  SOIL  DOES  COURAGE  GROW?          197 

Tell  me  where  is  triumph  found  ? 

Work  is  weary,  victory  far, 

Underneath  what  happy  star 
Is  the  laurel's  native  ground? 

Pomp  and  praise  and  gain  are  nought, 

Noblest  fame  is  dearest  bought 

Death  must  seal  what  life  has  wrought. 


WHY? 

is  a  question  that  earth  cannot  answer  ; 
Ages  on  ages  have  asked  it  in  vain. 
:  "  Thou  who  hast  poured  for  us  life's  mingled  portion, 
\    Why  must  we  quaff  it  in  sorrow  and  pain  ?  " 


Why?     All  is  silent.     Then  how  shall  we  drink  it? 

Now  in  swift  eloquence  Heaven  makes  reply,  — 
"  Take  the  cup  cheerfully,  drain  the  dregs  fearlessly, 

After  life's  bitterness,  Death  will  tell  why" 


g^xg*g>gxgxgx$f^^ 


(3w*x5<9^£W^ 


TWILIGHT  MUSIC. 

* 

WHEN  the  swift  December  darkness 
Has  hushed  the  sounds  of  mirth, 
When  the  lamp  is  not  yet  lighted, 

But  a  flame  is  on  the  hearth, 
Then  let  thy  white  hand  wander 

Along  the  ivory  keys, 
With  a  touch  as  true  and  tender 
As  the  breath  of  twilight's  breeze. 

Not  with  the  martial  music 

That  cheers  the  morning  hour, 
Not  with  the  artist's  rapture 

Of  passion  and  of  power; 
But  strains  of  old-time  ballads, 

Hymns  to  the  ages  dear, 
These  are  the  speech  of  twilight 

That  reach  the  spirit's  ear. 


200  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

Play  on  !  this  narrow  chamber 

Takes  form  and  aspect  grand ; 
Yon  darkened  window  opens 

Into  a  magic  land, 
As  one  by  one  they  enter, 

And  glide  about  the  room,  - — 
The  shades  of  years  departed 

Soft  stealing  through  the  gloom. 

O  Voice,  still  unforgotten, 

Why  do  I  hear  again 
Thy  mellow  accent  flowing 

In  the  sorrowful  refrain? 
O  Face,  that  cometh  never, 

Why  in  the  firelight's  glow 
Dost  thou  gaze  on  me  so  wistful, 

With  the  look  of  long  ago? 

Play  on !  my  spirit  hearkens 

To  numbers  floating  far ; 
My  eyes  no  longer  holden 

Look  through  the  gates  ajar. 
There  is  no  sound  of  voices, 

There  is  no  rush  of  wings, 
But  in  the  twilight  music 

A  choir  celestial  sings. 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  DAWN. 

AT  my  first  waking  moment  Sorrow  came 
Beside  my  bed,  and  on  my  bosom  laid 
Her  heavy  hand ;  but  I,  grown  less  afraid 
Since  her  first  coming,  uttered  low  a  name 
Mightier  than  hers,  —  and  as  the  morning  flame 
Burns  from  the  valleys  the  miasmic  shade, 
So  that  one  word  a  sudden  sunrise  made 
Within  my  soul,  —  and  Sorrow  fled  in  shame. 

But  ah !  though  that  dear  name  has  power  to  break 
The  icy  fetter  laid  upon  my  heart, 
And  for  each  day's  new  service  makes  me  free, 

I  know  full  well,  that  while  I  sleep  or  wake, 
Wan  Sorrow  never  wholly  will  depart, 
But  in  the  shadow  lurks  and  watches  me. 


THE   SUCCESSION. 

AS  one  by  one  the  singers  of  our  land, 
Summoned  away  by  death's  unfailing  dart, 
Unto  the  greater  mystery  depart, 
Sadly  we  watch  them  from  the  desolate  strand. 
Oh !  who  shall  fill  their  places  in  the  band 
Of  tuneful  voices?     Who  with  equal  art 
Speak  the  unwritten  language  of  the  heart, 
And  the  mute  signs  of  Nature  understand? 


Yet  poetry  from  earth  has  never  ceased ; 
It  is  a  fire  perpetual,  which  has  caught 
Its  flame  from  off  the  altar-place  of  Heaven. 

Never  has  failed,  in  darkest  days,  a  priest 
Who  by  no  price  of  gain  or  glory  bought, 
For  his  soul's  peace  his  life  to  song  has  given. 


THY  SONG. 

ASK  me  not  which  of  all  my  songs  is  thine  ! 
Ask  of  the  Spring  when  first  the  blossoms  stir 
Which  of  their  fairy  pennons  waves  for  her ; 
Ask  of  the  Night  what  star  of  all  that  shine 
Is  her  own  signet,  peerless  and  divine ; 
Ask  of  the  Sun  which  purple  follower 
Among  the  clouds  is  his  sole  worshipper, 
Lifting  at  dawn  his  colors  and  his  sign. 

As  stars  are  born  of  night,  as  flowers  of  spring, 
As  clouds  the  vivid  hues  of  sunlight  wear, 
And  all  an  equal  rank  and  kinship  know, 
So  is  thy  memory  the  awakening, 
The  living  warmth,  the  radiance  large  and  fair 
In.  which  all  songs  of  mine  to  utterance  grow. 


KLINGSOHR. 

BY  his  low  burning  lamp  at  midnight  hour, 
Ulric  the  student  read  the  ancient  tale 
Of  Klingsohr,  deathless  King  of  Poesie. 
He  read  that  he  it  is  who  fires  the  brain 
With  thoughts  of  noble  meaning,  lights  the  soul 
With  splendid  visions,  and  with  voice  that  steals 
The  heart  away  leads  upward  to  the  stars. 
If  God  or  hero,  spirit  or  living  man, 
Can  no  one  say ;  he  reigns  invisible, 
Content  o'er  hearts  to  hold  eternal  sway. 
Once  only,  when  a  wild  Hungarian  king 
Two  noble  minstrels  would  have  slain  because 
Another's  sounding  measure  pleased  him  more, 
The  magic  Master  strode  into  his  court. 

No  robe  of  state  he  wore ;  his  face  was  swarth 
As  one  who  holds  free  converse  with  the  sun ; 
A  peasant  cloak  of  white  hung  round  his  knees ; 


KLINGSOHR.  2O$ 

Of  hardy  race  and  rustic  life  he  seemed, 

Yet  in  his  eyes  a  fire  celestial  blazed  ; 

His  attitude  was  kingly.     Every  voice 

Was  mute  with  wonder,  every  breath  was  hushed, 

While  he  made  answer  for  the  hapless  bards. 

"  O  King !  "  he  spake,  "  lay  not  thy  harmful  hand 
Upon  these  subjects  of  my  realm  !     Touch  not 
Their  life  nor  freedom.     In  thy  narrow  court 
Slaves,  courtiers,  soldiers,  tremble  at  thy  frown; 
But  empire  such  as  thine  cannot  constrain 
The  worshippers  of  Beauty  and  of  Song,  — 
Free  souls  are  they  and  heirs  of  every  clime. 
Trouble  not  these  who  wear  my  royal  seal,  — 
Klingsohr  am  I,  of  measureless  domain." 

Then  turned  he  to  the  minstrels.     Sweet  as  dawn 

The  smile  that  lighted  his  majestic  face, 

And  at  his  feet  the  singers  fell  and  clasped 

His  shepherd  garment,  while  the  swift  tears  fell. 

"  Sing  thou  of  love,  and  thou  of  war,"  he  said, 

"  And  both  of  beauty  as  ye  read  it  best 

In  Nature's  changing  face.     There  is  no  law 

Nor  limit  to  your  freedom.     Human  hearts 

Alone  your  rank  shall  know,  your  crown  shall  weave." 

This  said  he  vanished,  smiling  as  he  passed, 


206  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

And  instantly  a  clangor  of  rich  sounds, 

A  wonderful,  entrancing  melody, 

All  human  passion  glorified  and  changed 

To  heavenly  adoration,  through  the  air 

Above  them  swept  and  ceased.     In  ecstasy 

The  king  and  warriors  stood  with  lifted  eyes, 

And  from  the  silent  court  the  bards  went  free. 

As  Ulric  read,  a  sudden  pulse  of  joy 
Stirred  all  his  being,  the  warm,  midnight  air 
Throbbed  audibly  with  mighty,  moving  wings, 
And  whether  in  his  heart  or  at  his  ear 
He  knew  not,  but  he  heard  a  voice  that  said, 
"  Rise  up,  my  brother,  seek  and  follow  me  !  " 

Until  the  dawn  the  sleepless  Ulric  mused 

Upon  the  path  which  he  would  early  take 

To  find  Klingsohr,  henceforth  his  only  liege. 

"But  have  not  many  sought  him?     I  will  go 

First  to  the  eldest,  wisest  of  the  bards, 

He  whose  blue  eyes  of  peace  have  longest  looked 

Upon  the  mountain-tops."     At  break  of  day 

He  took  his  journey  forth  and  sat  at  night 

Beside  the  bard  and  told  him  his  desire. 

"  I  know  Klingsohr,"  the  Master  said,  and  smiled 

With  gentle  pity  on  the  eager  youth,  — 


KLINGSOHR.  2O7 

"  Know  that  he  lives  and  reigns,  the  minstrel  king, 

And  I  have  loved  and  served  him  loyally, 

But  seen  him  never.     Often  has  he  sent 

Heralds  with  trumpets,  in  the  splendid  dawn, 

His  coming  to  announce,  or  messengers 

Who  stole  at  night  beside  my  wakeful  bed, 

In  lute-tones  delicate  his  wish  to  tell. 

Then  I,  forgetting  disappointments  past, 

Have  risen  in  haste,  have  made  a  costly  feast, 

Brought  wine  of  foreign  vintage,  treasured  long 

To  place  some  day  before  his  royal  lips  — 

Then  suddenly  the  herald  music  ceased, 

The  Master  had  passed  by  invisible, 

And  I,  heart-sick  and  weary,  could  but  taste 

The  costly  viands,  leaving  still  untouched 

That  which  was  rarest.     Yet  I  keep  my  house 

Garnished  and  ready,  lest  some  hour  he  come !  " 

The  Poet's  tale  but  fired  young  Ulric's  zeal. 
To  seek  the  great  magician,  though  by  paths 
Of  bitter  toil  and  hardships  numberless, 
To  find  him,  make  him  visible  but  once, 
And  catch  the  measure  of  his  mighty  harp, 
This  seemed  the  only  good  that  life  could  yield. 
Long  time  he  gave  to  study,  sought  rare  books, 
Records  of  many  years  and  many  climes, 


2O8  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

Where  oft,  in  mythic  tales,  he  caught  a  glimpse 

Of  this  song-master,  but  in  none  he  found 

The  password  to  his  secret  dwelling-place. 

He  took  long  journeys,  looking  with  keen  eyes 

Into  men's  faces,  if  perhaps  some  glance 

Of  majesty  and  beauty  should  reveal 

The  Ideal  hidden  in  a  human  form. 

But  oh  !  at  times  how  hopeless  grew  his  quest ! 

So  wrapped  in  narrow  selfishness  and  greed 

The  clamoring  crowd  swept  on.     Why  longer  seek? 

How  could  the  star-crowned  walk  these  barren  ways? 

How  could  the  song  of  songs  in  such  a  world 

Ever  one  audible  tone  or  word  reveal? 

But  in  such  moments  often  would  he  hear 

The  striking  of  soft  chords,  prelusive  notes 

Of  melody  approaching,  and  again 

He  would  make  haste,  and  in  swift,  tremulous  lines 

Try  to  record  the  unreached  harmony. 

Along  the  highway  one  day  flashed  and  passed 
Long  lines  of  horsemen  and  of  infantry, 
Brilliant  in  arms  and  tossing  rainbow  plumes, 
In  memory  of  some  glorious  victory. 
And  at  their  head  rode  one  of  statelier  grace 
Than  all  who  followed.     He  with  piercing  eyes 
Looked  upon  Ulric  as  he  passed  and  drew 


KLINGSOHR.  2CQ 

Him  onward  with  the  magic  of  his  gaze. 
Then  Ulric  feeling  that  this  warrior  soul 
At  least  was  kindred  to  the  king  he  sought, 
Followed,  and  found  a  place  to  speak  with  him. 

The  warrior  heard  and  answered  musingly,  — 

"  Klingsohr?     I  know  him  not,  but  I  have  heard 

Majestic  music  on  the  battlefield, 

Clearer  than  bugle,  deeper  than  the  drum, 

Distinct  above  the  battle's  rage  and  roar,  — 

A  wonderful,  far-reaching  melody 

Which  was  not  of  the  earth  nor  of  the  sky, 

A  thousand  voices  blended  into  one. 

For  Fatherland  !  it  rung — for  loyalty, 

For  freedom,  right,  and  endless  good  to  man  ! 

Oh,  strong  my  heart  within  me  grew,  and  strong 

My  right  hand  held  the  sword  of  victory, 

Because  that  song  resounded  over  me." 

Stirred  by  the  warrior's  memories  and  full  sure 
That  he  was  near  the  goal  of  his  desire, 
Ulric  went  on  and  sought  the  famous  fields 
Whereon  this  hero  won  his  high  renown. 
But  lo  !  the  hillsides  swelled  in  velvet  sward, 
And  all  the  trampled  vales  were  sown  with  wheat, 
And  birds  sprang  shyly  from  their  ground-built  nests. 

14 


210  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

Awhile  he  lingered  listening  to  the  tales 

Of  war-worn  veterans,  but  the  sunlight  keen, 

The  warm  and  waving  branches  and  the  thrill 

Of  nature's  gladness,  jarred  with  such  a  theme. 

"  He  has  gone  hence,"  he  sighed.     "  The  battle-psalm 

Delights  him  not  in  this  sweet  hour  of  peace. 

The  time  is  past  when  glory  reigns  alone 

With  kings  and  warriors.     They  who  live  for  truth, 

For  honor  and  the  universal  weal, 

Are  dearer  to  the  heart  of  Fatherland." 

Straying  he  knew  not  whither,  suddenly, 

"  Come  hither!  hither!  "  joyful  voices  cried, — 

"  To  the  rose-garden  come  and  bring  thy  lute  !  " 

And  swift  surrounding  him  a  merry  band 

Of  bright-haired  youths  and  maidens  led  him  on 

Into  a  garden  magical ;  for  there 

Grew  blossoms  never  else  together  seen, 

Young  springtime  and  the  autumn's  richest  prime 

Blending  their  bloom  and  fragrance  into  one. 

For  there  were  banks  of  purple  violet, 

And  arbutus,  first  whisper  of  the  May, 

And  roses,  choral  of  the  summer  dawn, 

And  honeysuckle,  twilight  kiss  of  love. 

And  there  were  water-lilies  whose  white  cups 

Brimmed  with  midsummer  sweetness  on  the  deeps 


KLINGSOHR.  2 1 1 

Of  a  still  lake,  and  ripe  autumnal  flowers, 
Arrayed  like  princesses  of  orient  state, 
Smiling  and  glowing  from  the  terraces. 

Then  in  a  fairy-like,  bewildering  dance, 

The  lovers,  clasping  hands,  flew  o'er  the  green, 

And  Ulric,  smitten  with  a  new  delight, 

Played  for  them  as  they  danced,  then  threw  aside 

His  throbbing  lute  and  sang  with  all  his  heart. 

And  as  he  sang,  the  dancers,  one  by  one, 

Looked  in  each  other's  eyes  with  tears  of  joy, 

Drew  close  to  him  and  sat  about  his  feet ; 

And  he,  enraptured,  heard  a  deep,  soft  sigh 

Thrilling  the  air  above  him,  and  he  poured 

The  story  of  a  passion  more  divine 

Then  aught  these  lovers  dreamed,  and  sang  with  might, 

Believing  that  Klingsohr  beside  him  stood, 

With  garment  touching  him  invisibly. 

But  when  the  even  came,  the  air  grew  chill, 

The  face  which  had  been  fairest  turned  away, 

And  Ulric  rose  and  wandered  through  the  grove, 

Crushing  the  fallen  roses  as  he  called, 

"  Klingsohr !  where  art  thou?     Show  thy  face  to  me  ! 

Give  me  the  song  of  love  if  not  the  joy !  " 


212  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

And  from  the  sky  behold  there  fell  a  star, 
And  on  the  wind  funereal  music  sighed. 

Then  from  the  wilderness  afar  from  men 

Came  deep  ^Eolian  whispers,  and  once  more 

The  poet-pilgrim  took  his  staff  in  hand. 

"  The  dream  of  glory  and  of  love  is  past ! 

In  the  still  forest  I  will  seek  for  him 

Who  has  no  need  of  worldly  pomp  or  fame. 

Somewhere  in  lodge  invisible  to  sight 

Of  keenest  hunter  he  serenely  dwells, 

Sweeping  with  loving  touch  the  tremulous  strings 

Of  Nature's  never-silent  instrument." 

Then  for  full  many  days  did  Ulric  dwell 
Alone  with  Nature.     In  a  greenwood  haunt 
He  gave  himself  to  learning  that  deep  speech 
Which  is  the  secret  of  all  living  things, 
Whispered  forever  by  the  winds,  the  leaves 
Of  growing  forests,  and  the  murmuring  brooks, 
And  understood  and  echoed  by  the  birds,  — 
The  ceaseless  sigh  and  questioning  of  earth, 
And  Heaven's  eternal,  comforting  response. 

Here  he  had  happy  days,  and  scarcely  felt 
The  pang  of  solitude,  so  sure  he  was 
That  he  at  last  had  reached  the  outer  court 


KLINGSOHR.  2 1 3 

Of  that  great  Presence  he  had  sought  so  long. 

For  when  the  ever-blushing  Dawn  looked  forth 

From  her  rose-bordered  window,  he  could  hear 

The  sweet  bells  of  the  Day  begin  to  chime ; 

He  watched  while  Nature  whispered  in  her  dreams, 

Stirred  in  her  fragrant  slumber,  and  arose 

Trilling  the  prelude  to  a  hymn  of  praise ; 

He  learned  to  love  the  pagans  of  the  storm, 

To  stretch  forth  arms  of  rapture  when  the  winds 

Held  their  wild  wassail,  or  the  white  cascades 

Leaped  madly  in  their  race  for  liberty 

The  inmost  meaning  of  all  forest  lore 

His  rapt  ear  heard,  his  heart  interpreted, 

And  yet  the  master  key  was  unrevealed ; 

The  word  unutterable  he  strove  to  speak, 

The  face  invisible  he  yearned  to  see. 


And  now  the  prime  of  summer  days  was  past,  — 
A  summer  or  a  lifetime  who  can  tell?  — 
When  Ulric,  sleeping,  had  a  vision  given. 
He  seemed  to  see  a  moving  multitude 
Hurrying  each  other,  crowding  to  and  fro, 
Each  seeking  restlessly  an  unknown  goal. 
Before  them  silent  and  majestic  walked 
Klingsohr  as  once  he  trod  the  Eastern  court, 


14  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

A  shepherd  robe  of  white  about  his  knees, 
And  an  ineffable  splendor  on  his  face. 

"  Oh,  why,"  the  dreamer  cried,  "  do  they  not  seize 

His  hand,  his  garment's  hem,  and  following  him 

Cease  this  bewildered,  aimless  wandering?" 

But  looking  on  them  closer  he  perceived 

Their  eyes  were  holden  and  they  could  not  see 

The  king  before  them.     Then  with  yearning  strong 

To  tell  them  of  the  glory  in  their  reach, 

He  woke.     From  thence  the  charm  of  solitude 

Was  fled ;  he  saw  himself,  with  clearer  eyes, 

A  dreamer  in  a  world  in  need  of  men. 

With  quickened  inspiration  he  went  forth 

To  seek  no  longer  for  himself  alone 

The  master  of  his  destiny,  Klingsohr. 

As  in  the  vision,  quickly  he  perceived 

That  many  sought  in  vain  the  true  Ideal ; 

Brave  youths,  high-hearted  maidens,  hastened  on, 

Intent  to  reap  the  golden  sheaves  of  life. 

Faltering  sometimes  they  asked,  "  Who  is  Klingsohr, 

Whom  we  seek  blindly,  you  by  vision  led?  " 

He  answered  with  an  ardor  strong  and  new, 

"  He  is  the  true,  the  lasting  Victory ! 

He  is  the  unattained,  —  yet  not  therefore 


KLINGSOHR.  2 1  5 

The  unattainable,  —  and  he  who  finds, 
Has  also  found  the  pathway  to  the  stars. 
Let  us  go  on  in  haste  and  hand  in  hand 
In  faithful  brotherhood,  for  it  may  be, 
The  lowliest  who  is  strong  in  loving  zeal 
May  soonest  see  the  Vision  wonderful." 
Thus  filling  their  faint  hearts  with  new  desire, 
Cheering,  uplifting,  strengthening,  he  went  on, 
And  many  joined  the  happy  pilgrimage. 

As  birds  return  at  spring  to  their  old  haunts, 
Bringing  the  southland  breezes  on  their  wings, 
So  many  wayside  songs  he  once  had  sung 
Came  winging  back  to  him,  and  many  bore 
A  laurel-leaf  and  laid  it  on  his  brow. 
And  sweeter,  tenderer  with  compassionate  love, 
And  strong  with  heavenly  prophecy,  his  words 
Fell  from  the  hard-won  heights  to  vales  below. 

There  came  a  day  when  on  the  mountain  slope 

Ulric,  grown  faint  and  weary,  fell  aside 

From  those  who  loved  and  followed  him.     He  heard 

Their  voices  full  of  music  and  of  cheer, 

And  gazed  upon  the  banner  beautiful 

Borne  in  their  midst,  until  it  disappeared 

As  vanishes  a  crimson  cloud  at  eve. 


2l6  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 

He  was  alone  and  yet  not  comfortless. 

"  At  evening  time  it  shall  be  light,"  he  said, 

And  a  great  calm  and  peace  possessed  his  soul. 


Then  all  the  western  sky  grew  luminous, 
The  shining  cloud-gates  parted,  and  he  saw 
A  grand,  love-lighted  face  look  out  on  him. 
The  shape  grew  large  and  lustrous,  and  a  voice 
Fell  nearer,  nearer,  like  a  solemn  bell, 
Saying,  "  Arise  and  meet  me  !  I  am  come  !  " 


Then  Ulric  seeing  that  the  goal  was  reached, 
His  life-work  ended,  uttered :   "  Ere  I  die, 
Give  me  one  measure  of  the  song  divine, 
One  true  vibration  from  thy  kingly  harp !  " 
But  Klingsohr  answered :    "  I  have  been  to  thee 
Close  and  perpetual  comrade  all  thy  way  ; 
Myself  I  gave  thee  for  thy  knighthood  true, 
And  these  late  laurel-leaves  that  garland  thee 
Are  of  my  groves  immortal.     Yet  forbear ! 
For  ere  thy  hand  upon  my  harp  is  laid, 
And  ere  thou  learn  the  theme  of  that  high  song 
Which  this  world  only  echoes  from  above, 
Thou  must  receive  the  sign  and  seal  of  death !  " 


KLINGSOHR. 

Then  Ulric  sank  down  slowly,  peacefully, 
Heard  once  again  the  mighty,  rushing  wings, 
Felt  the  ice-kiss  of  death  upon  his  lips, 
But  saw,  through  all,  the  lofty,  shining  face. 
And  down  the  purple  sunset  hills  there  rolled 
A  river  of  majestic  melody, 
Love's  utmost  fervor,  beauty's  pure  delight, 
Triumph  of  hope,  beatitude  of  praise, 
Down  flowing  from  the  border-land  of  Day. 
And  his  freed  soul  was  lifted  on  that  tide, 
Uplifted  and  borne  outward  and  away. 

Thus  had  the  pilgrim  found  at  last  Klingsohr ; 
Thus  only  had  he  learned  the  Song  of  Songs. 


IN   THE   GARDEN. 

VI  7AS  it  thou,  Mignonette? 

For  while  the  south-wind  stills  its  low  complaints 
To  bear  the  censer  of  thy  rich  perfume, 
I  read,  upon  a  terrace  warm  with  bloom, 
Flower-stories  of  the  Virgin  and  the  Saints. 

I  read  that  Mary,  passing  through  a  field, 

Her  heart  oppressed  with  that  mysterious  gloom 

Which  ever  falls  on  those  whom  Heaven  has  sealed 

For  glory's  crown,  —  and  doom, — 

Paused  often,  in  her  meditative  walk, 

To  pluck  some  favored  blossom  from  its  stalk, 

Some  happy  flower,  which  bowed  its  beauteous  head 

And  summer's  odorous  benediction  shed. 

But  one  pale,  scentless  weed, 

Nor  beautiful  nor  sweet, 

Which  she  would  never  heed, 


IN  THE   GARDEN.  2 19 

But  that  it  clung  so  close  about  her  feet, 
With  tender  touch  she  gathered :  to  her  breast 
And  to  her  lips  the  fragile  leaflets  pressed, 
Because  so  frail,  so  hopeless,  loved  the  best ! 

Oh,  then  the  poor  weed  strove 
To  whisper  forth  its  rapture  and  its  love ! 
And  as  it  mutely  trembled  and  adored, 

Like  praise  of  spirit  risen 

From  long  and  woful  prison, 
A  tide  of  fragrance  from  its  heart  was  poured  ! 

Nor  once  in  all  the  ages  has  it  sighed 
For  beauty's  coronal  of  brilliant  hue, 
Red  of  the  rose  or  violet's  winsome  blue, 
By  that  one  kiss  of  pity  glorified. 
The  garden's  lowly,  well-beloved  flower, 
A  miracle  of  sweetness  from  that  hour,  — 
Mignonette,  was  it  thou  ? 


§&f*&S3g*g*ae^ 


ALCYONE. 


I. 

A  MONG  the  thousand,  thousand  spheres  that  roll, 

Wheel  within  wheel,  through  never-ending  space, 
A  mighty  and  interminable  race, 
Yet  held  by  some  invisible  control, 
And  led  as  to  a  sure  and  shining  goal, 
One  star  alone  with  still,  unchanging  face, 
Looks  out  from  her  perpetual  dwelling-place, 
Of  these  swift  orbs  the  centre  and  the  soul. 

Beyond  the  moons  that  beam,  the  suns  that  blaze, 

Past  fields  of  ether,  crimson,  violet,  rose, 

The  vast  star-garden  of  eternity, 

Behold  !  it  shines  with  white,  immaculate  rays, 

The  home  of  peace,  the  haven  of  repose, 

The  lotus-flower  of  heaven,  Alcyone. 


ALCYONE.  221 


II. 


IT  is  the  place  where  life's  long  dream  comes  true : 

On  many  another  swift  and  radiant  star 

Gather  the  flaming  hosts  of  those  who  war 

With  powers  of  Darkness ;  those  strong  seraphs  too 

Who  hasten  forth  God's  ministries  to  do ; 

But  here  no  sounds  of  eager  trumpets  mar 

The  subtler  spell  which  calls  the  soul  from  far, 

Its  wasted  springs  of  gladness  to  renew. 

It  is  the  morning  land  of  the  Ideal, 

Where  smiles,  transfigured  to  the  raptured  sight, 

The  joy  whose  flitting  semblance  now  we  see ; 

Where  we  shall  know  as  visible  and  real 

Our  life's  deep  aspiration,  old  yet  new 

In  the  sky  splendor  of  Alcyone. 


222  UNDER  PINE  AND  PALM. 


III. 

(WHAT  lies  beyond  we  ask  not.     In  that  hour 
When  first  our  feet  that  shore  of  beauty  press, 
It  is  enough  of  heaven,  its  sweet  success, 
\  To  find  our  own.     Not  yet  we  crave  the  dower 
Of  grander  action  and  sublimer  power ; 
We  are  content  that  life's  long  loneliness 
Finds  in  love's  welcoming  its  rich  redress, 
And  hopes,  deep  hidden,  burst  in  perfect  flower. 

^  Wait  for  me  there,  O  loved  of  many  days ! 
Though  with  warm  beams  some  beckoning  planet  glows, 
Its  dawning  triumphs  keep,  to  share  with  me ; 
For  soon,  far  winging  through  the  starry  maze, 
Past  fields  of  ether,  crimson,  violet,  rose, 
I  follow,  follow,  to  Alcyone ! 


University  Press  :    John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge. 


1C \ 1 2094 


